The Best Part of the Night

We went out to dinner Tuesday night.  

This was a huge blessing to me, given the fact that my kitchen sink is not currently in place and my new dishwasher is not yet hooked up. 

The five of us were seated right away at a six-top, rather than crammed at a four-top... but that was not the best part of the night.

Our waiter was fabulous.  From offering to water down my youngest's cranberry juice to setting the kids' fries aside to cool a bit, he was perfect... but that was not the best part of the night.

Our food arrived promptly and was delicious... but that was not the best part of the night.

The entire bill for an appetizer, three kids' meals, two adult entrees, and five drinks (soda and juice, adult and child, respectively) was $26... but that was not the best part of the night.

Because the bill was so low due to fabulous promotions at Chili's, we were able to leave a rather monstrous tip to that awesome waiter... but that was not the best part of the night.

As I gathered my little ones and prepared to leave the restaurant, an elderly lady one table over touched my arm.  I turned and faced her and her husband:

Your children are so well-behaved.  Truly wonderful little ones.  You should be proud.

I was.

And THAT was the best part of the night.

What Happens When My Son Blogs

Ninety-five percent of what you see posted here gets done in that window when my older two are at school and my youngest is napping. I am simply NOT a night owl and I try very hard to reserve what little energy I have left in the evenings for my husband. This routine works very well for me.

Except it's Spring Break.

So I've been trying to write what needs to be written either before my children rise or while they eat breakfast.

I failed to complete the task a few days ago.

My six year old son asked me to do something (and, shamefully, I can't even tell you what it was) and I replied,

"In just a sec, hon. Let Mama finish up this article she's writing real fast, okay?"

And that was that.

Today, he brought me his toy laptop and asked if I'd like to use it to write an article. I smiled and suggested that he should write one.

He did.



Can you see it? Can you read it? I hope so. It was the most important "article" I've read all week:

God loves you.

And so, as I step away for the next few days to share this blessed season with my family, I leave you with that.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. John 3:16

Happy Easter.

April 15th Is Not Just Tax Day

April 15, 2006 was an important day for me.

It was my due date for my second baby, one due a mere fourteen months after my first child had arrived.

April 15, 2006 was Tax Day, of course, but it was also the day before Easter that year. Easter Eve.

On April 15, 2006, I should have been having a baby. Or about to have a baby. Or taking care of a brand newborn baby.

I was not.

Instead, I had been home from the hospital for just about a week. I had come home with my second baby, a girl, who was, by then, nearing four months old.


My Easter Eve baby had arrived on Christmas Eve.

April 15th is never just Tax Day to me.

linked to Finer Things Friday

Role-Modeling For My Daughters

There was a time, not long ago, when I felt sure of the ways I was setting a good example. I thought I was setting a beautiful example by staying at home, being securely married, going to church every week, and preparing home-cooked meals. I was happy to be raising little girls in this environment, proud of the example of motherhood I was displaying.

But I've learned something.

What I'm doing matters so much less than how I'm doing it.

• If I'm a stay-at-home mom who grumbles about the drudgery, I'm doing them no favors.
• If I'm married to an honorable, steadfast man but do not demonstrate- openly- love and respect, they won't see the value.
• If I go to church, but rush around angry and frazzled in my haste to get everyone out the door rightthisveryminute, I fail in sharing the joy of worship.
• If I bake my own bread and sigh at the time and effort it takes, I'm not displaying anything they should aspire to...

Consider...

• Whether you are a full-time homemaker or hold a powerful career outside the home too, embrace it. Let your daughters see you take pride in what you do, no matter if you do it by choice or necessity. It doesn't matter if I'm here because I want to be or because I lost my job; my girls need to see me celebrating the role.
• Whether you are married or single, show your daughters how you fulfill your responsibility. A crabby woman with a husband is not a better role model than a happy single mama. It's that simple.
  
• Show the celebration of worship! Pretty hair bows and being on time pale in comparison to an open heart and willingness to smile and sing and embrace the wonder.
• Find joy in baking bread... and, if you can't, find joy in picking up a loaf of Wonder. Trust me- you do your daughters a greater service by buying bread with a spring in your step than baking it with a stone in your heart.

Do not mistake what I am saying. What we do- and the choices we make- matter. They will play a role in shaping who our daughters become...

But, when, one day, I kiss them goodbye with tears in my eyes, I want them to be eager. And not so much eager to get married or embark on a career... I want them to be eager to be just like their mama:

Happy.

The Peril of Having a Cute Baby

"Oh, aren't YOU just the cutest thing in the world???"

"I just want to take that little one home with me!"

"Aw, just look at that adorable little girl!"

"She is the most precious thing..."

They hear it all the time. The one everyone's talking about? Yeah, she doesn't much notice, though she usually offers a sweet, big-eyed smile. Her siblings? They hear every word. And, so, yesterday, at CVS...

"Oh, I think you're the cutest little angel I've ever seen!" from a young lady working there.

Her significantly older co-worker amended, "Oh, I see cute times three right there!"

The first lady stammered, "Oh, well, of course, yes, all three are so cute!"

My oldest, my son, spoke up:

"G. is a cutie pie!"

Both salesladies assured him that they're all darling.

He continued, "But G's so cute! She's the cutest! Everyone says so." And with that, he walked off, innocent smile still in place.

Ouch.

That's what they hear. All. The. Time.

G. IS cute. She looked like the Gerber baby when she was younger and still has ridiculously long-lashed, giant blue eyes. She's a charismatic little flirt and charms men and women, young and old.

BUT...

My two older children aren't chopped liver. And, while I KNOW that babies and precocious toddlers can be appealing little magnets, we can't forget their older (and more aware, I might add) sibs.

I'm working hard to make sure they know how wonderful (and adorable and lovable and clever and...) they are. And I promise, should I ever meet you in real life, to never leave your older children out.

Ten Minutes

I had accomplished so very much that morning... baked fresh bread, brownies, and more. Sorted, boxed, and labeled six sizes worth of girls' clothes. Vacuumed. Two loads of laundry. Clipped and organized coupons. My, my, wasn't I an impressive one.

It had to be done, see. I knew I had errands to run that afternoon, after nap and school.

Hurry, hurry, rush, rush. Go play now, kids. Yes, I'll help with the princess dress. Yes, that is a corner piece for puzzle. Yes, I'll fix your headband. Now, run along now, Mommy's working.


I had half an hour before I had to pull lunch together. Half an hour where I could get all that laundry folded and put up. Half an hour where I could mop the kitchen floor that sorely needed it. Thirty minutes to pour one more cup of coffee and then scrub the pot.

I gave them each ten minutes.

Ten minutes of uninterrupted Mommy time. Ten minutes to do whatever each wanted with me. Their choices. My time.

And, oh, how much focus they put into their decisions. They pondered. They weighed and, finally, selected...

I read Elmo's 12 Days of Christmas... many, many times.

I helped bring a giant coloring page to life...

I sorted edge pieces so we could put the Transformers together.

The laundry, my dirty floor, and the stained coffee pot? They're all still there. They're not going anywhere. But there will come a day when my ten minutes might not be viewed as such a treasure...

Best half hour I could have spent.

Linked to Finer Things Friday.

Lent '11: Letting Go of Judgment, Challenge 1 RESULTS

I think there are a few of you joining me in taking on this challenge for Lent. This delights me!

Last week's challenge was this:

Challenge 1: Ask a woman with differing or opposing views how she made her choice. This is not an opportunity to debate. For this challenge, you are just listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I realize I used the words "woman", "she", and "her" in that challenge, which might make it seem odd that I asked a man. But I did. Here's why: I figured if I'm asking you to come along on this journey with me, I owe it to you all to not cop out with some easy question. I asked a hard one. One where I knew it would be hard for me to keep my mouth shut and just listen. But I did.

Here goes:

"Can you tell me a little bit about why you're pro-choice?"

(If you know anything at all about me, you know I'm vehemently and unapologetically pro-life. Still, I like this man. He's smart. And he's married to a good friend of mine. I heard him out.)

"I'm pro-choice because there's no perfect answer, but I believe in giving women the right to decide what's best. I mean... it's not like I want to think about babies dying, JL, or that I don't think they matter. But I know there are times... Well, here. My sister. She got pregnant young. You know my dad's a church leader. My parents would never have forgiven her. She pondered killing herself but, because she was able to end the pregnancy, she found the strength to go on and she never had to face our parents judgment and hate. It's hard. They're so conservative. Well, you are too, I guess. But she was trapped. And so, when I think of the fact that without that option, I would have lost my sister, yeah, I'm glad it's legal."

There you go. Now, you know, of course, that I could refute a lot of that with my own views.

That wasn't the point.

It was amazing to me how much people will share when you're just listening. When there's no debate. When you put judgment on hold. And, really, when you view it as an opportunity to learn and show compassion, it's not that hard to stay silent. Did anything he said change my views on abortion? Not one bit. But it was eye-opening to learn how his life experience had shaped his views.

The most powerful thing to me?

His sister was, essentially, driven to have an abortion because of how deeply she feared her parents' judgment.

Now there's a lesson to take away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did you participate this past week? How did it go?

If you blogged about it, please link up below so I know to visit you. If you prefer, tell us about your experience in the comments.

Humbled Again

There's nothing I can say.

The flooding our town has faced in the past week had us as the lead story on the eleven o'clock local news each night.

I've whined about it myself here and there. I've wrung my hands worrying about all the driving around my husband does for his job.

It is nothing- NOTHING- when we see what has happened to our brothers and sisters across the sea.

And so, rather than share my super awesome tip for entertaining littles in the cranky evening hours (probably next week, folks), I'll just leave it at that.

I've, once again, been humbled.

And I am praying.

The image above is my town. As I said... nothing.

My Bus Buddy

I see your big brown eyes gazing fixed out the dingy window. I wave to you, smiling brightly, encouraging my one year old to wave her dimpled hand too.

I know you see me, though you don't smile or wave back. I know you do. I see it in the way your stare follows me even as the big yellow bus pulls away.

I also know I'm the first one who's waved to you today.

I want you to know how badly I want to gather you into my home, welcome you to my table, and bake you dairy-free cookies. I want to watch you play, or not, and wonder what thoughts are pouring through your busy mind.

I want you to know how very special you are and how very loved. If I could whisper in your ear, I would reassure you that you're perfect. You're exactly as you should be. You grow more amazing each day, sweet little boy.

It's easy for me, see, because I am just the woman outside the window. I am not the one who endures the day in and day out struggles. If you yell inappropriate things at the lunch table, I can shrug it off. If you refuse to say one single word at a birthday party, it causes me no grief or embarrassment. If you aren't "typical", well, I think that's just swell.

I want to hug your mama, too, though I know the act would put her off. She loves you so much. She's so tired. She wants amazing things for you and, sometimes, I think we focus so much on the amazing THINGS we want that we miss the amazing moments. Like the one day you showed me a picture you drew...

You ARE amazing, precious child, and I look forward to waving to you next Tuesday.

On (Redefining) Friendship

(Once again, I'm participating in Lisa-Jo's five minute Friday...)

Five minute writing prompt: "No editing, no back-tracking, no pauses. Just words. This week, let’s focus on friendship."

Start-

I've never met her. Never laid eyes on her smiling face. I've never even been to the state she calls home. Her children do not know mine and our husbands have never watched the game together, though I like to think they would all enjoy each other's company.

So sometimes it feels odd to refer to her as "friend" to those around me here. To try to explain the meaning and importance of her.

We have spoken on the phone just a few times... and always during crisis, it seems. When my world seemed to collapse around me, she was the first to reach out and say, "I'm here. Call me. We'll chat."

Didn't matter that we'd never shared hugs in person; we leaned on each other over phone lines. Miles were crossed and overlooked in those moments.

I've jetted off five word direct messages on Twitter or wordy rambling emails. I've received a few too. And always, always, I feel the strength and trust of the friendship we have forged.

"Bloggy friends" do not make sense until you have one.

But, once you do...

You get it. You feel it. You redefine friendship beyond the faces that pass through your daily life...


-Stop

(In case you're burning with curiosity about who I'm talking about here... it's Amy. Love you, girl!)

Baking Up A Fresh Start

(I'm linking up to The Gypsy Mama's 5 Minute Writing Challenge again. I hope I don't bore or bother you all with these exercises... they're really, really good for me though. If you haven't tried it yet, I really urge you to! It's so freeing...)

I pushed him away. He whispered, "Mornin, Sunshine" and I grumbled. My head was throbbing and I just wanted him to get up already. To not let that alarm go off one.more.time.

I was wrong. I so often am.

So I stare at the brown swirls in the big white bowl. I turn and turn and turn the red spatula, folding, mixing, creating. Smells of cocoa rise up to me and I brush a tear aside before I inadvertently over-salt the brownies...

This is what I do. This is how I speak my love.

I bake.

Not big starchy loaves of bread or puffy rolls or fresh buns...

No, I bake sweets. Brownies and cookies and cakes and trifles and pastries and tooth-achingly sweet nothings to try to tell him that

Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.

I do see his sweetness and I do know he loves me and I do know he needs more from me and

Yes. Yes. Yes. I was wrong.

He understands. He'll lick the crumb from his thumb and grin at me and we'll start again.

A fresh start. Another chance. A shot at getting it right.

Sometimes one of us falters in this dance of love, but we know how to pick the steps back up.

And we're never afraid to improvise.

Disney's Desperate Housewives

My sister-in-law emailed this to me.

It's funny. It really is.

It's also a sad commentary on wives, in my opinion...

Because, while this tongue in cheek cartoon pokes fun at the plights of the princesses, it's also a pretty accurate reflection of conversations happening among women all over the country right now.

Griping. Whining. Fussing. Complaining.

• "Our car isn't nice enough..."
• "My husband wants sex ALL THE TIME..."
• "No way will I put out the effort for that..."
• "He actually wants me to look sexy for him!"
• "I'm expected to take care of these little ones all by myself all day long..."

All followed by huge, exasperated sighs.

Listen. I'm not saying it's a bad thing to vent occasionally. Or to have good friends with whom you can compare sagas. But don't we owe our husbands a bit more respect than that? And, really, if you actually think about it, are any of those things really so bad or so much to ask?

I, for one, would like to work really hard on changing both what rolls through my head and what comes out of my mouth to sound more like:

• "We are so blessed to have two vehicles..."
• "I'm so lucky my husband wants to be with ME all the time!"
• "The man I married deserves my time and energy."
• "Isn't it amazing that he finds my post-baby bod sexy?"
• "I am so grateful we're on the same page about me staying home with the children."

I am not even close to perfect. I roll my eyes sometimes. I stomp and fuss and feel put out.

But I really want to work on it. I don't want to read a cartoon like that and think, "Amen, Sister!" Rather, I want to think about MY prince and what he sees in me and hears from me. I am in no way desperate and I want that to come across loud and clear.

Now excuse me while I go don some fishnets. ;)

Some Things Change... Most Stay the Same

This year, Christmas Eve was hosted at my sister's beautiful home. It worked out wonderfully since it is closer to where my 88 year old grandma lives. It also meant that we were able to see my two nephews serve as altar boys in the Christmas Eve Mass... so special! We're normally at my parents' house and eating an Italian feast on Christmas Eve; this year, at my sister's, we had a huge ham spread. So... some things do change. But most things- the important things- stay the same...

Children still gather round Bama at the piano to sing carols.

Tasty appetizers are tested in a warm, noisy kitchen.

Siblings- and sibs-in-law- still lend hands with the babies.

Stockings- some older than me- are still stuffed and distributed.

The birthday girl is never forgotten!

Sweet hands still find jingle bells hanging from a welcoming door.

Treasured new friends are made.

Joy is- always and forever- found in the simple things...

I hope you all had beautiful, blessed Christmases!

Five Breathless Years

Five years ago today, I gazed upon my precious newborn daughter in the early hours of Christmas Eve...



Amazingly, against all odds, I had this giggly ball of smiles to bake cupcakes for a year later...



At 2 years old, she was still tiny, but able to do SO much... even help decorate the Christmas tree! (She still likes to put lots of ornaments on one branch...)



And, at 3, she had already declared herself a princess...



When she turned 4, she was both a beloved little sister and an awesome big sister... with fancy hair "just like Mommy"...

And now...



Now she is 5.

Our miracle.

The one pound baby with long-shot odds.

The little girl who came so close to going blind.

Our precious daughter, born in the wee hours of Christmas Eve, her cry ringing out and leaving the medical staff awed, silent, and breathless.

Happy Birthday, C.

Resolved: To Be Happy (and Merry Christmas to YOU!!!)

Merry Christmas!!!

Like so many of you, I'll be taking a few days off to spend with my family as we come together to worship and give thanks for this blessed season. Wherever you may be, I wish you joy and peace.

Thank you for taking moments out of your busy days to spend with me here- it means the world to me.

As the New Year rolls in, I'm not going to be making any grand "New Year's Resolutions", but I will be writing a one-week series the first week of January all about the subject: "Resolved: To Be Happy". If you'd like to join me in embracing happiness and contentment in the New Year, I'd love for you to read along and I will offer a linky each day for anyone who'd like to join in and share. Topics I'll be addressing include:

Monday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Home
Tuesday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Job
Wednesday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Appearance
Thursday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Friends and Family
Friday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Limitations

That will all start up on January 3, 2011. I hope I'll see you then!

Deck the Halls

I am so blessed to "know" so many crafty, talented bloggers. And, well, this time of year, it's been amazing to witness the glorious, gorgeous Christmas decor they manage to pull together and display. I love it. Love seeing the beauty, love being inspired by their creativity, love enjoying the warmth of their holiday homes. But...

Oh, how I hate that "but". But there it is...

But it makes me feel bad. But I feel like I don't measure up. But I don't seem to have that "crafty gene". But I didn't even think to decorate the soffit above my cabinets...

But.

It's not those talented ladies' faults. No, ma'am. Not at all. It's all in my head. It's time I take you on a little tour, folks...

Welcome to my home.

See that wreath? Yeah, I didn't make it. I bought it. At Walmart. About four years ago. Many, many little hands have enjoyed ringing those jingle bells over the years...


Ah, my beloved Three Kings. My late maternal grandmother made them. I adored them as a child and my mom passed them on to me when I had my own home.
They're not on a lovely decorated mantel (my mantel is in a chaotic playroom) or on a lovely, festive table (too many little hands could reach them). Nope, instead they are on the top of a tall hutch. But I can still see them. And I love them.

On to the tree...
You don't think a smorgasbord of pink, silver, green, purple, gold, etc. ornaments is going to land me the cover of Country Living? Me neither. But they sparkle and shine with the children's favorite colors. And not a one of them is heirloom or breakable.


Why, yes, that IS an impaled snowman. The one-year old put him there. I like him just like that.


What's that you say? It's not proper to hang three ornaments all on the same branch? Well, you and I both know that, but the four-year old didn't get the memo. And she thought it looked amazing...

And, oh yes, our star...
It's crooked. No surprise there... tradition dictates that we let the youngest child help put it up. I imagine it'll be a few years before it's nice and straight.

But when I step back and take in the whole picture...

Or, more importantly, focus on the details that matter...

I see curiosity and wonder and little hands that are allowed to touch...


The glow of soft lights on a precious baby's face....



...and the sheer joy and merriment of having a perfectly decorated home.

Merry Christmas.

Linked to Finer Things Friday.

Because...

Because of THIS moment on Feb 18, 2001...

Because I said "Yes"...

Because we vowed to be together 'til death do us part...

Because I love him more today than I did on that day...

... it is our wedding anniversary today.

Nine years. Three children. More tears than I can count. But more laughter than tears. More joy than sorrow. And, above all, more love than I ever even guessed I would find. Funny how teenage fantasies pale next to the love of a real man. How blessed I am to know that...

And you? Are you so blessed too? How long have you been married? Do share!

Learning From My Elders

Last weekend, we went to visit my grandma in her new home. It was our first time seeing her new apartment and, since we decided to make the trek on a whim, she was surprised to see us there. Happy, but surprised.

After visiting with her for awhile, rearranging a table to better meet her solitaire-playing needs, and escorting her down to the activity room to play Bingo, we said our goodbyes.

As we headed out the front door, an elderly lady touched my arm and stopped us.

"What a beautiful family!" she exclaimed, smiling at the baby in my arms and the children clinging to Daddy's hands.

"Enjoy them."

"Oh, I will..." I started to say, but she continued.

"Love them more every day. But, even more, love each other. Enjoy each other. Your children will see that. It will shape the relationships they choose."

I nodded.

"I'm not crazy," she laughed. "I hope I didn't scare you."

Quickly, I shook my head no and opened my mouth to speak, but she wasn't quite done...

"It's just... I saw you and it reminded me of me, long ago. I'm the only old bird left in my family now, but I remembered what it was like. I had four children too... Bless you." And she smiled softly as she headed back inside.

My son took my older daughter's hand and I took my husband's. We headed to the car.

Hubby and I have talked about that weekend a lot since. It was a long weekend- Columbus Day weekend- and we had three whole days together. All three were wonderful. We enjoyed each other. We laughed together. We teased each other.

And we weren't afraid to listen to a stranger... to glean some wisdom from our elder.

*Note: I only have three children. And I'm not expecting. I think she may have some vision problems. Just didn't want to start any rumors... ;)

This post is linked to Works For Me Wednesday

Ten Bittersweet Baby Moments

Do you remember...

1. ...the first time your baby WANTED you to put her down so she could get moving?
2. ...having to pack up those first tiny outfits knowing your baby would never wear them again?
3. ...realizing it was time to stop swaddling?
4. ...when the "slap-slap" of little hands and knees on hard floors was replaced with the pitter-pat of little feet?
5. ...how it seemed like one day your baby became interested in grabbing things other than just your finger?
6. ...knowing that it was time for your baby to be introduced to new foods and acknowledging that you could no longer take full credit for every ounce of growth? ;)
7. ...when it suddenly hit you that your baby would no longer stay where you put him and nothing was "safe" anymore?
8. ...the day when your baby no longer seemed (so) interested in the bottle, the binky, or (most of all) the breast and, while you knew that was good and natural, it also hurt a little?
9. ...when that gummy grin became a toothy grin?
10. ...noticing the hand dimples were gone?

That last one is so hard on me. I love those hand dimples. My baby still has them at fourteen months and likely will for awhile. I kiss them EVERY DAY.

What baby moments and milestones were bittersweet for you? Did you ever shed a tear even as you knew your child was moving in the right direction? Do share!

This post is linked to Top Ten {Tuesday}

Sleep-Training, NICU-Style

My youngest, Baby G, is going through a phase. A "bad-sleeper" kind of a phase. For whatever reason (teeth? sunburn? growth spurt? random development shift?), she is not the super sleeper she once was. I'm not writing this to rant about that. Truthfully, it hasn't been that bad for me. She still naps and she'll sleep like a rock at night... so long as it's right next to her mama's side. While I'm not a "co-sleeper" by nature, we'll make it through this stage...

When I think back, my first-born was a super sleeper too. But he, like G, had a couple of phases that required some extra "mama attention". I remember them as being tough times. I even remember a stretch where I feared he would never sleep more than six hours a night ever again. But he did. We made it through.

And then I think of C, my middle child, my sweet first daughter born at just barely 24 weeks gestation...

She had no such phases as a baby.

We never had to even have a real "routine" to get C to sleep (though we did)... we could simply place her in her bed and she'd go to sleep. This was kind of a blessing since she was hooked up to so many tubes and machines... pacing, going for a drive, or even rocking would have been complicated.

Was it just her temperament? No... I don't think so. She's arguably the feistiest of my children. She can be demanding, defiant, and is sometimes prone to crying fits.

But she'd just go to sleep.

Why? Because she'd been inadvertently "sleep-trained" by three and a half months in the NICU.

And that makes me sad if I think about it too much.

I should probably point out before I go on that I am NOT a cry-it-out kind of a mama. I'm not judging (and I realize that it works well for some), but I cannot do it. I don't have the strength to hear my babies sob and not go to them. I also don't really like the idea of my baby eventually stopping crying not so much because she's not sad anymore but because she has learned that, even if she cries, I will not come. I'm sorry if that view offends any of you, but I cannot help the fact that that is how I perceive it.

At my home, a crying baby is a priority. Can I always get there immediately? No. Sometimes it takes me a moment. But that crying baby is near, if not at, the top of my list.

But at the NICU? Understandably, a crying baby often has to wait... sometimes long enough to just give in and fall asleep. This is because the nurses are doing their JOBS... they are attending to babies whose health hangs in the balance... babies who are sometimes in great distress and truly, truly need immediate attention. The NICU nurses I know are amazing people who enjoy snuggling and soothing the babies... I have no doubt they would try to comfort each crying baby if they could. They just can't all the time.

And so, those babies who spend a long stint in the NICU often come out "sleep-trained".

Was it nice to have a baby who self-soothed so easily?

I guess so.

I just wish I didn't have to wonder if she just didn't trust that I'd come...