You know that point when you realize you sound ridiculous?

I'm sure this happens to many people.

You're asleep, in the midst of an awful nightmare. You finally wake up and you're shaking because you're so terrified. You wake up your husband just to get a grasp on reality. Then you start to recount your nightmare.

When you start to say it out loud, it doesn't sound so bad. It really stops being scary when you mention that you were hanging out with Dora the Explorer and The Cat in the Hat.

Point being, those dreams feel so much scarier when you're actually asleep. Once you talk about it out loud, it loses its fear factor.

Well, today I got home after a relatively long day and Tom had made dinner for all of us. It was such a relief - I was very hungry and Abby was ready to eat as well.

I sit down and fill my plate. It's then that I look down and see the pasta he made sprinkled with Parmesan cheese. I'm really not a fan of Parmesan cheese. In fact, I hate Parmesan cheese unless it's blended in with a meat or something like that where you can't really taste its pungency.

I can honestly say that in the seven and a half years Tom and I have been together, I have mentioned to him that I don't like Parmesan cheese at least a dozen times. He continues to sprinkle it on pasta.

I'm miffed. I start to pout.

Me: "Is there Parmesan cheese on this?"

Tom: "Yes."

Me: ::huff::

Tom: "What?"

Me: "I hate Parmesan cheese."

It was at this point that an utterly ridiculous conversation/argument ensued. We went back and forth.

Tom: "I saw Parmesan cheese on the counter last week! You asked me to get it for you! I know you like it!"

Me: "I used it for the turkey for Abby! I don't like it!"

That was when I came up with the ultimate (and unbelievably pathetic) statement.

Me: "I just see you remembering these things as a sign of love for me."

That's when Tom got really annoyed.

After he tried to make polite conversation, he finally said, "I mean, really? You're trying to tell me I don't love you because I put Parmesan cheese on the pasta?! Would you like me to make you new pasta? I can. I can make you Parmesan-cheese-free pasta."

Game, set, match, Tom.

I can now look back on this and laugh. And I will try to properly communicate my food preferences from here on out.

And don't think I won't weave in a dish I know Tom doesn't "care for" just to see how he handles it.

Poor Daddy

An example of Abby's hair in the morning.

Well, I think we've encountered the biggest source of stress since Abby was born: Tom had to do her hair this morning.

If you've seen photos of Abby shortly after waking up in the morning, you would know that she resembles Cousin It. Her hair is all sorts of crazy and it hangs in front of her eyes and it's quite the task to tame it.

I have the responsibility of doing her hair each morning and I typically put it in a ponytail on the top of her head (aka "The Pebbles Flinstone").

This morning, while at Ford Field for today's game, I received a panicked phone call from Tom.

Tom: "How do I do this?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

Abby's hair from today ... note the
different-colored barrettes.
And Tom did not put the hair tie in.

Tom: "I have five clips in her hair right now, but she keeps pulling them out. I know this seems funny, but it's really hard! I don't know how to figure this out."

It was a 5-10 minute phone call and Tom was just as frustrated at the end of the call as he was at the beginning - if not more so.

I'm not sure what Abby looks like as she heads to the U-M Men's Basketball team photo and I don't know if I'll ever know since Tom is refusing to send me a photo.

If you cross paths with Tom and Abby today, give him a hug. And make sure you tell him Abby's hair looks nice.

Tom relaxing equates to ceiling fan cleaning

I went to the gym and told Tom I wanted him to relax while I was gone.

I came home to him standing on our bed, wiping the dust from the blades of our ceiling fan.

Me: "I thought I told you to relax."

Tom: "I am relaxing."

Somehow, I believe him 100 percent.

Be very jealous, ladies.

Perhaps I should take this as a compliment?

I was incredibly excited because I got four dresses and three pairs of shorts for Abby for next summer for $32 at Target. The fact that I actually sifted through the clearance racks to find things that were worth it pleased me very much.

I decided to show Tom what I bought.

I pulled out the first dress and held it up.

Tom: "Is that for you?"

Me: "Really?"

Tom: "What?"

Yes, Tom, I'm going to squeeze into a 2T just for S&G.

Either he thinks I'm incredibly thin or incredibly ... a word I'm not going to say on a blog about my child.

Missing the point

So, we've reached that time where we're trying to teach Abby to talk.

We will do what undoubtedly irritates any non-parents in the vicinity and will say, "Abby! Say, 'kitty'" Her response is, "Kuh". Well, that's close enough.

My mission is to get Abby to say "Dada" when pointing at Tom. Tom is not compliant.

Every time I point to her and say, "Who's this?" She pauses for two seconds and then Tom screams, "Daddy!"

NO. We are teaching HER that you are Daddy. Therefore, she has to figure it out and she needs more than .2 seconds.

Me: "Abby ... say, 'Dada'."

Tom: "Daddy!"

Me: (pointing at Tom) "Who's this?"

Tom: "Say, 'Mama'!"

So, we are working in tandem on Abby learning to talk and Tom learning how to teach Abby to talk.

For the time being, we can rest assured that Tom, in fact, knows how to say "Daddy."

Where's Waldo a la Abby

I've heard many a parent say, "We don't need any toys - we have TOO MANY toys!"

I am nowhere close to that point.

I don't know if it's because I am enjoying the reliving of my youth or if it's because watching her play with and discover new toys is so awesome, but I love it.

Granted, we could probably get better use out of our toys if someone ::ahemTom:: didn't put every. single. toy. we own into Abby's pen at the same time.

I swear, this morning it would have been a Where's Waldo situation trying to find Abby amidst all the toys.

Me (frantically putting toys in the toy box): "You should probably stagger the use of these toys and not put all of them in the pen at once."

Tom: "Why?"

Me: "Because."

Tom: "You're in a bad mood this morning."

He may have had a point.

Well ... ABBY slept through the night ...

Our daughter slept all night. Amazing. I can honestly say I don't think I've gotten six consecutive hours of sleep in a year.

Though, in the midst of that awesomeness, Tom had to wake me up to ask me if Abby was, in fact, sleeping through the night.

"Psst."

"What?"

"Have you gotten up?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"She's been sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Yes."

So, our daughter slept through the night.

My husband did not.

The Closer

Apparently, Tom is the Todd Jones to my Jeff Weaver. The Mariano Rivera to my Andy Petite. The Dennis Eckersley to my Bob Welch.

Yes ... he's 'The Closer.'

Tonight was the second in our quest to sleep train Miss Abigail. Tom was out to dinner with friends, so I had the dinner/bedtime routine duty.

After dinner, Abby and I played on the floor for about 15 minutes. Well ... she tried to touch everything in the room, and I perfected my phrase, "Uh uh, no touch."

We then had bath time (she pulled an entire bucket of foam letters into the tub ... it was awesome) and story time. I read her "That's Not My Kitten" (I truly don't understand that book. What is the concept in stating that every trait that every cat has makes it "not my kitten"? What exactly does your kitten look and feel like then? I throw it on the pile with "Goodnight Moon". Sorry.), "Little Hands Love" and "Things That Go" (a book about all things vehicular from her cousin Leo ... she LOVES the book).

Then it was time for Abby to eat and go to bed. With eating finished, we read one more story and then I put her in her crib with her puppy (a stuffed puppy) and her Violet. I turned on the nighttime music and left the room.

Let the screaming begin.

I cleaned up after her bath and then returned to her room only to find her straddling the side with her legs through the bars looking as though she were in prison. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

More screaming.

I began loading the dishwasher and then returned to her room to find her in a similar position. Laid her back down, goodnight, left room.

Screaming.

Cleaned the kitchen some more and went back up. This time she was standing on the edge of the crib looking at me with these huge weepy eyes that made me want to take a long walk off a short pier. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

The child was thisclose from falling asleep. Her eyes would droop and she would get ready to roll over into her regular sleeping position, but then grew none too pleased when I left the room.

As I was finishing the cleaning preparing for my next visit to her room, the garage door opened to signal Tom's arrival.

He walked into the kitchen and asked for the bedtime routine protocol ("I can't rub her belly? Not even for 30 seconds?") and ventured up.

I heard the door open, heard him tell her goodnight and heard the screaming get worse.

A minute later he reappeared in the kitchen and we began making small talk. All of a sudden ... it was quiet.

It only took 30 minutes for Abby to fall asleep on "her own" but it took Daddy's magic touch to close it out.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not.

Seriously.

Apparently I can suck it

In response to yesterday's post, my husband says he is "pulling a Degeneration X" and telling me to (good-naturedly) suck it for doubting his stamina during last night's sleep training session.

He was, in fact, present at nearly every crying episode and stood strong despite Abby's best efforts at waking up the entire city of Ann Arbor.

We shall see how we fare tonight, though. Apparently Night 2 is when babies reach deep into their pockets to pull out all their tricks.

What WWE wrestler will Tom be quoting tomorrow?

Oh, so this is a problem?

Abby went to her nine-month well-baby appointment today. Turns out, we have been unknowingly harboring bad sleep patterns. Granted, I could have told you that, but I have been in denial (it's not just a river in Egypt).

The end-result of the appointment is that we have to sleep train. That includes putting Abby to bed awake, regulating naps, not nursing her to sleep and limiting her eating at night.

Helping that along will be me not going in to soothe her at night considering I'm the primary food source.

Who does that leave to get up at night, you ask?

Well, I suggested it to Luke and Leia, but they weren't up for it. They figured there could be a logistical problem since Abby outweighs them. (Abby actually doesn't outweigh Leia, but I didn't want to tell her that and make her feel bad).

That only leaves ... Tom.

The look of pure terror on his face when I mentioned it would be best for him to attend to Abby tonight was amusing. I could just see the sentence forming in his head.

"What do you mean ... I have to go to work tomorrow!"

I should mention that Tom has always been 100-percent willing to get up when needed. I just haven't minded getting up. For that, he has been 100-percent thankful.

Now that we have to make this change, I think the fact that Tom doesn't have a love affair with coffee as I do (the man has never tasted coffee ... WTF?) will come back to bite him in the arse.

I'm thinking Tom is going to be cheering harder than me for this sleep training thing to work ASAP. I have faith in our girl -- she fell asleep by herself tonight!

But the wee morning hours loom. Will Tom need to get up with her? Will he be sleep deprived tomorrow?

To be continued ...