Our dirty little secret

This post has been a long time coming. I’ve been thinking about it for several months, what I wanted to say and how to write it down in words. But I’ve noticed a lot of discussion in the blogosphere world around the topic lately, so I really can’t hold back any longer.

Our son has been sleeping for 12 hours a night since he was about five months old. People seem completely amazed and perhaps a bit envious when they hear that the first time. But here’s the thing… we didn’t do it alone, and he cried a lot in the process.

After a particularly draining “vacation” to Greece last July, we hired an “online nanny” to help us with Per Christian. She was based in the UK, we were in Norway (consultants everywhere should make note of this telepresence arrangement). We had phone calls every morning and evening to talk about what was happening with our son, and she’d give us our marching orders for what to do next.

It was – in a word – a relief.

Per and I were beyond exhausted as new parents, and we were completely overwhelmed at the plethora of information (and mis-information) out there. We had no clue what we were doing and we needed help. We agreed to work long-distance with this baby consultant for three weeks, and to follow her instructions 100% during that time. If it didn’t work out or if we felt at all uncomfortable with the arrangement, then we’d go back to forging it alone. No harm done.

Our first order of business was to get Per Christian sleeping on his own. I quickly realized that we had been caught in a never-ending cycle of issues… Per Christian wasn’t nursing well because he wasn’t sleeping well, and he wasn’t sleeping because he wasn’t eating.

So we did the unthinkable – we left our fourth-month old to “cry it out.”

This is what’s garnering so much attention lately, the debate of “To Cry or Not to Cry.” Per Christian was left to cry for 20 minutes at a time – mostly during the daytime, and during periods when he should typically be napping. Trust me, those 20 minutes felt like an eternity to a nervous, new mother staring at the clock ticking down the seconds on her iPhone. But we received specific instructions from our super-nanny along the way, as well as some much-needed reassurance when I was ready to give up the entire experiment.

That very first night, Per Christian slept for eight hours. The next night for ten hours. The following night for 12 hours… and we haven’t looked back since. We of course still have the occasional sleepless night from teething pain or traveling chaos, but overall we’ve been good.

This is, understandably, a hot-temper topic among parents… Is it cruel to let our babies cry? Is it creating mistrust? Have we re-wired the neurons in his brain to hate the world? Is it putting the need for parents’ sleep above the need for infant comfort?

All I can say is that it’s worked well for us. I feel more confident taking care of my son now because I know what to expect. I know he can settle himself for naps and for bed in the evening. And if he’s not settling – or wakes up crying in the night – I know something is wrong. I don’t have to lie in bed and wonder. I just know.

I do not believe that this sleep training taught Per Christian that nobody will come for him when he cries, so he might as well suck it up and go to sleep. I still come and comfort him if he’s not sleeping after 20 minutes, and if he cries at 3am then I’m out of bed in a flash. What I do think he’s learned is how to re-settle in the night without the need of a tight swaddle, or a pacifier, or food, or hours of rocking to sleep. I believe that this is just one of the things that every child will have to learn eventually… we teach them to eat properly, how to walk on their feet, how to say their first words. Shouldn’t we also teach our children how to sleep?

I’ve been reading a lot of anti-crying and anti-sleep-training rhetoric lately, so I thought it was about time to throw my own hat into the ring. Not many of us stand up and say, “Yes, I left my child to cry and that was the right thing for us…”, but there do seem to be a lot of vocal proponents of supposedly more “gentle” methods. So what’s the right way to teach your child to fall asleep on their own?

It’s an impossible question to answer.

I do know that our experience will not work for everyone. Those first three days were tough emotionally on the entire family, and I wouldn’t criticize anyone for going a different route. We did get through it, and I personally believe we’re all better for it as a family, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t had my doubts.

Anyway, there’s my two cents thrown into the sleep training arena. I’m extremely grateful that we had help along the way, but in the end I still believe every parent has to do what feels right in the deepest, darkest corners of their gut.

Baby travel tips

Per Christian just passed nine months. During my usual routine of overly-emotional reflection, I realized that this kid has traveled more in his first nine months than I did my entire life before college.

Wow. The times, they are a-changin’!

That’s a lot of airline miles and a lot of lessons learned the hard way. I decided that – finally! – perhaps I do actually have a bit of baby-related wisdom to share.

So I started a new page of this blog to document some advice, entitled “Baby travel: Tips for Survival.” My hope is that other tried & true parents more experienced than myself can add to the list with your own insights. Maybe it’ll be helpful to someone in the blogosphere world or maybe not – either way it’s public information now.

With that, I leave you with the latest milestone achieved here in the Svendsen household (please ignore the trash bags in the background, it was New Year’s day so mommy & pappa had a lazy prosecco morning….):

Ta da!!!! He’s so proud of himself….

 

Cleaning out the cobwebs

I suppose everyone disappears over the holidays, and this blog was no exception. My apologies to those readers sitting on the edge of their chairs, eagerly anticipating blog updates. If you do indeed exist, please forgive my absence.

I was traveling with our meatloaf from December 3 until the 28th, a trip that included Ireland, South Carolina and finally Disney World. (… admit it – you’re all picturing a crazy bag lady at the airport, holding up security lines with a stale meatloaf wrapped in saran wrap and mumbling incoherently…)

It was a great holiday in many ways, most of all because our little Per Christian got to meet and play with his cousins for the first time. He spent intense hours examining the inner workings of the laundry room with his cousin Thomas, and he finally discovered someone that spoke his own language with my niece, Emily. (Mommy of course stood on the sidelines with overly-emotional tears in her eyes, which is about normal these days.)

We then returned to the Island and had a quiet New Year’s Eve with multiple bottles of bubbly. Too many bottles actually, but that’s about normal these days as well.

We did our usual year-end reflection as the fireworks went off, recalling all the good times in the year that brought us our son. And I realized – selfishly, of course – that I am so happy that 2011 is over. This was a hard year, folks, the hardest of my life. I won’t lie to you, there were days (and looooong nights) when I wished I could jump ship and run away. I am self-admittedly NOT a baby person; I do much better with someone I can boss around and who does what I want. I love my son beyond belief, but I do not miss those early baby days for one second. And I’m leaving them all in the past with the turning of the clock.

2012 will be the year I get myself back. This will be the year that Per Christian takes his first steps, spends his first day in the kindergarten and celebrates his first birthday. I’ve paid my dues and gotten him this far, now I get to sit back (relatively speaking, of course) and watch him grow. This is the year I get to figure out what the f#$@ to do with myself here in Gran Canaria, the year I get my body back into pre-baby shape, and the year I can put myself first for the first time in over 18 months (relatively speaking, of course…).

So good riddance 2011! You brought me the best of times and the worst of times. Now I’m ready to re-even the score.

Enjoy the photos below from our holiday travels. I wish everyone a happy 2012!

The maybe game

Are you still looking for the perfect holiday gift for new parents? Or are you a new parent yourself and looking for ways to entertain you and your partner over the holiday season? (Because – let’s face it – your childless friends will be out on the town, but you will absolutely be home alone with a baby and multiple bottles of bubbly…)

Then I recommend this year’s hottest new item – The Maybe Game (designed exclusively for P&P fans worldwide). This exciting mystery puzzle takes a modern spin on the age-old activity of trying to guess what the f* is wrong with your kid.

To play this game, simply gather a group of parents around the table and select a card from one of the decks labeled “Sleepless Nights,” Mysterious Crying,” or “Parental Karma.” Read the situation on the back of the card and discuss. At length. And repeatedly.

Example #1:

You select a card from the Mysterious Crying deck that reads:

“Your baby is crying.
Maybe it is gas.
Maybe it is hunger.
Maybe it is tiredness.
What do you do?”

At this point, you and your partner sit on opposite sides of the table and discuss possible solutions ad naseum.

Winners do not exist because there are in fact no correct answers. (What – you thought you had the answers?! HA! You over-confident schmuck, you must go directly to the Jailhouse of Dirty Diapers for the next three turns. Do not pass Go and definitely do not look at your partner for assistance.)

Example #2:

You select a card from the Parental Karma deck that reads:

Your baby slept like an angel on your cross-country flight to grandmother’s house.
You should therefore expect either:
A. Continued angelic behavior
B. Total meltdown

(Hint – the answer is not A.)

The Maybe Game never ends. Repeat the same cards in another 20 minutes and enjoy all the fun you have trying to figure them out the second time. The possibilities are endless!

Recommended Players: 2 or more (partial ownership of at least child is required in order to participate)

Time Required: 30+ years

Goal: Survival

Give the perfect gift to all the dazed and confused parents on your list this year!

I have a plan…

I’ve decided to use my son as fish bait to find new friends. This might not get me the Mommy of the Year award, but I’d be willing to bet actual money on my success.

I’ve never been a modest person in general, and certainly not about my son. He’s been grabbing attention ever since I popped him out, and he’s only improved with age (this is, of course, a totally unbiased mother’s opinion).

But I really never anticipated the overwhelming reaction Per Christian has received in Gran Canaria. Strangers stop to coo over him at every turn, and I’m not even exaggerating. Yesterday our waitress at lunch stole him out of my lap and walked him around the entire restaurant. (This is not a complaint. Per and I sipped wine in peace for at least three blissful minutes…) This morning, I literally had a woman chase me down the street to stop and give him a little spanish beso. She started telling me what sounded like a very interesting and lively story, but I didn’t hear the words “cortado” or “cerveza” in there anywhere, so I got a bit lost in translation.

And don’t get the mistaken impression that it’s only the women, either. The men are just as eager to stop us on the street and sing praises to this miniature meatloaf. But they don’t usually get rewarded with his cheeky little smile – even at such a young age, Per Christian is a committed ladies man.

So my brilliant new plan is to beef up the Spanish lessons, strap Per Christian into his Baby Bjorn and hit the streets. I’ll just walk around until someone stops to admire him, then I’ll amuse them with my witty language skills and lure them into my friendship web. Bam! Amigos galore!

Feel free to forward my Mommy of the Year nominations to your nearest social services office.

In other news, crawling is, like, so last week, y’all….

Hope everyone had a great weekend!

Nature vs. Nurture: Is beach snobbery genetic?

After three weeks in Gran Canaria, the Svendsen family finally hit the beach.

It was NOT a huge success.

Per Christian isn’t a stranger to water. He’s been swimming in Greece, he’s been sailing in Norway, and he’s been in the pool for several baby-swimming classes.

But the poor chap didn’t care much for the crowed beach of Amadores this weekend. Being packed like sardines in the sand is apparently not his idea of a good time. I wasn’t heartless (or resourceful) enough to snap photos of his misery, but rest assured he looked something like this for the entire 20 minutes we were there:

To be quite honest, his parents agree. Call us beach snobs if you will, but crowds, heat and sand do not mix well in our opinion. Apparently Per Christian inherited those genes, which is just fine with us.

So we gave up the beach and went in search of something else. We passed by all the obnoxious boardwalk restaurants where waiters hustle the tourists with cheap beer and cheaper food. That’s also not our thing.

We finally stumbled upon the Amadores Beach Club. And then Momma, Pappa and little Per Christian lived happily ever after….

Later that afternoon, we created our own little exclusive beach club at Casa Svendsen. Baby nudity is allowed and in fact encouraged here, but I’ve been informed that those photos are not for public consumption:

We also made our first venture into Las Palmas this weekend. We only checked out a tiny portion of it for now, reminding ourselves that we actually live here and don’t have to absorb everything in one trip. So more on that another time.

Per Christian also started his Spanish lessons, which so far consist of tearing pages out of mommy’s Spanish dictionary. We’ll keep you updated on his progress.

Hope everyone had a great weekend!

Back to business

For all you die-hard PC fans and doting grandparents everywhere, I know exactly what you’re thinking…. “Thanks, mommy dearest, for all your thoughts and ramblings, but what about the little chap? When do we get to see a bit of him again?!”

That’s okay, I’m not offended that you’d rather look at my son than read my writing. Really. I’m here to serve.

So without further ado and to appease the masses, here are some shots of Per Christian adapting to his difficult life in Gran Canaria….

First, a “before” shot of the week we left Oslo – no more coats and hats for this little boy!

He’s really chomping at the bit to get on his feet – I have about 100 shots all identical to this one:

Speaking of chomping, here he is with his favorite teething toy. Those fancy-schmancy teething rings I bought him?? Forget it – he’d rather have a cardboard box:

We’re pretty lucky to be within walking distance of Per’s new hotel, so every once in a while Per Christian gets lunch with pappa (note – the beer was actually on a Saturday…)

The beginning of each day starts in bed with mommy and pappa — undivided attention, cuddles and a bottle filled with warm milk… What better way to start the day?

Every afternoon is reading time to prepare for Per Christian’s entrance exams to Oxford. (Kidding, maybe a little….) By the way – these hard books are also excellent teething toys in lieu of the ones mommy bought.

All dressed and ready for a day on the town. This little fair-haired child has quickly become the toast of the town — the darker locals love his blond hair and the Scandinavian pensioners always stop to pet him. He’s never gotten so much attention before, which I think suits him just fine….

He’s getting pretty skilled with the high chair, even the cheap plastic ones they have at the cafes. He’ll usually last about seven minutes in it before his Scream of Boredom begins – just enough time to drain my cortado in peace.

And then, every afternoon and evening, peace descends upon the house as Per Christian drifts off to never-never land. This could be the single best advertisement for Pampers diapers I’ve ever seen.

That’s all folks!

Brain fail #1,269

As both my father and father-in-law have pointed out, I need to take a refresher course on scientific history.

This post should of course have referred to Murphy (anything that can go wrong – will), rather than to Newton (gravity and apple-on-the-head).

Damn. Sorry folks.

In an attempt to hide my utter embarrassment and avoid any further blunders, here are some recent photos of our precious little meatball. Current favorite activities include grabbing at anything within arm’s reach and throwing them across the room/table/jet plane. I’ve heard this is typical Boy behavior, as opposed to Girl behavior that includes playing quietly with minimum destruction (sugar and spice and all that….)

He’s teething badly enough to drive mommy to distraction. Thank goodness pappa returns home from Gran Canaria tonight.

One week left in countdown to the Big Move – wish us luck everyone!

—————-

Uh oh…. I think there’s another bar-loving Svendsen in the house:

Playdate with girlfriend Nina, Auntie Eline and Auntie Larissa:

Traveling like a big boy to the airport:

Excellent promotional material for Norwegian Airlines (en route to Auntie Gøril in Tromsø):

Classic Nordic baby-style:

Look everyone…. up on all fours!

My superhero self

There are hundreds of articles and pieces of advice out there about what to expect from your post-baby body. Changes in hip and waist sizes (ugh!), changes in bra sizes (fabulous!), hair loss, tender joints and sore lady parts…. You name it, someone out there is postpartum and feelin’ it.

But nobody told me about Mommy Ears. Not visible to the naked eye, Mommy Ears is a curious phenomena that only newly-minted mothers can appreciate. (Fathers are, apparently, immune.)

It results in a heightened sense of sonic abilities – some are so powerful they could land you on the cast of Heroes or X-Men. You can hear the tiniest peep from your little one several rooms away and at all hours of the day or night. You can instantly distinguish your little one’s cries amid all the other noise at the shopping mall or your mommy group meeting. You can sleep through earthquakes and natural disasters, but never through your little one crying.

This is some serious Superhero stuff.

Take, for example, my experiences over the last several nights. Lille Per Christian is teething up a storm, so everything I knew about his sleeping and eating habits has flown out the window. Damn.

So I’m deep in an exhausted sleep and wake suddenly for no reason at 2:50 am.

I lay in bed, body tense, holding my breath.

30 seconds…. 90 seconds…. three minutes….

Whew. Nothing. Roll back over to sleep.

But NO! There it is. A small whimper from the nursery. A pint-sized stirring that warns me my son is awakening at a most unappreciated hour. I leave him for a few more minutes to make sure, during which time his small murmurings become much louder and more insistent. A few more minutes to make double-y sure…. Yep. The little guy is up.

How is it possible that those tiny sounds can travel through walls and sealed doors to snatch me so abruptly from Slumberville? I can sleep through all manner of drunken debauchery on the streets outside my bedroom window, but I wake at this?!

Mommy ears, I’m telling’ ya.

I’m unsure if these abilities will intensify or weaken as Per Christian gets older and I grow more comfortable with my Superhero powers. I half-expect he’ll be a 27-year-old Peace Corps volunteer in the Zambian outback and I’ll still be laying awake at night for the sound of him waking.

But I guess that’s all part of being a Mommy (aka Superhero).

Note: This image is NOT representative of Per Christian during teething.

Newton’s law

NOTE: This post has been updated on 14 October due to my embarrassing blunder in scientific history. Blerg! See here for full disclosure…

I remember when I was young(er) and my father would travel quite often for business. This was always, always the time when something went wrong in our house and my mother would have to deal with it alone. It was inevitable – the plumbing would rupture, the toilet would overflow, the car would break down, the dog would get sick, the kids would get arrested (kidding).

Of course, this was also inevitably the time when my mother would wallpaper the bathroom or paint the kitchen. I guess Newton’s Murphy’s law worked both ways in my house.

Now that Pappa Svendsen is gone for two weeks getting set up in Gran Canaria (check out our new locale here), I’m discovering a new-found sympathy for my mother’s former plights. He’s only been gone for four days and already Newton Murphy is in full swing.

The computer breaks down and I don’t know what to do (we recently purchased a MacBook Air which I both love and hate in equal intervals).

Lille Per discovers the joys of the television remote and now you can just guess what doesn’t work anymore.

Teething pains descend and Lille Per is at maximum levels of fussiness until – miraculously – tooth number two made an appearance.

And days like this happen that make me wonder how single mothers ever survive.

We’re only renting our place here in Oslo, so I’m not following in my mother’s wallpaper/painting footsteps quite yet. But I am doing my own version of pet projects during my quiet nights at home – writing on this blog, trying out some new recipes (since I’m the only potential victim), looking over a few Spanish lessons, taking a quick farewell trip to a friend up North…. Whatever it takes to get out of the house and avoid as many versions of Newton-ness Murphy-ness as possible.

Let’s just hope the kids don’t get arrested while he’s gone (kidding).