Considering making a conscious effort to prevent Angus's first word being "SHIT"

It has come to my attention that certain members of my family are reading my blog.  Specifically, my grandparents.  I THINK anyway.  Last night I talked to my grandmother on the phone.  She had a stroke in 2001? 2002?  Anyway, it's caused her to be a little confused.  Well, that's not accurate.  She's still all there, really.   She's the same person she always was, just has a little trouble finding the right words sometimes.  I forget what the condition is called. 
It's actually not too hard to follow along with what she's saying, because the inflection and tone of her words are there, and the subject is usually obvious.  But once (year's ago when it was worse) I went to visit them, and upon arriving at the door, she asked me if I would like to have a shower in my suitcase.  Another time, when they were going through the process of moving and getting rid of things, she rang me up and asked if I would like three dead bears.

Anyway, last night she was asking me how I was liking it over here, and mentioned something about it being flat, not mountainous like B.C.  I know I mentioned that in my previous blog entry, and I can't remember if I mentioned that at any other time.... so I've deduced that grandma and grandpa are reading my blog.  SHIT!!!

Now I'm mentally going back in time and trying to remember how many times I've sworn, and if I mentioned any sordid activities that grandparents shouldn't know about.  Well, it doesn't really matter I guess.  There's no reason to censor my writings.  They may be my grandparents, but they're still people, and I bet they're not totally innocent.  They haven't been grandparents they're whole lives!  Just MY whole life!  They used to be my age once.  (Can you imagine?)  That means, one day I'll be THEIR age!  Holy crap.

Now I've really gone and offended them for sure.

I'm going to talk about something else now.

Last night I was determined to let Angus cry himself to sleep.  I've been trying for quite a while, but I always end up sabotaging my efforts, because the sound of his heart-breaking cries eventually get to me, and I go in to console him.  Then he starts waving his arms and grinning at me.  So I know I'm being manipulated!

I used to be a huge believer in the "attachment" style of parenting.  I was going to "wear" my baby constantly.  To the store, doing housework, going the bathroom.  All the Dr. Sears books said that if I do this, my baby will grow up to be secure and independent.  But have you ever ACTUALLY tried to wear your baby while doing the dishes?  Especially when your newborn is not the size of a newborn, but roughly about the size of a five-year-old?  Impossible.  Also, Angus turned out to be the kind of baby who hated to be restrained.  I could only "wear" him, if I had him facing outward, so his arms and legs dangled.  (Although, when he was that young, he pretty much hated everything.)
(The Moby Wrap worked pretty good though, I have to say.  And I have actually gone to the toilet with Angus in it.)

I knew I was  going to breastfeed.  (And this I have not wavered on.)  I planned to breastfeed Angus until he was thirteen, and I was definitely going to have him sleep right close to us, to make breastfeeding during the night easier.  We got a co-sleeper for that purpose.

Well all this has come flying back in my face, because Angus turned out to be the kind of baby that attachment parenting doesn't actually work on. He doesn't like being "worn" constantly, he likes to be FREE, to kick his legs and flap his arms around.  He doesn't like to be cuddled, which is why I enjoy breastfeeding so much, as it's my only cuddle time with him.
And finally, the co-sleeping started to become a problem.  We were all starting to distract each other in the night.  Angus grew bigger, and took up most of the bed, pushing Aaron to the very edge every night, and causing me to sleep in only one awkward position all night.  Also, Angus was distracted by my boobs in his face all night long.  Mom's Diner, open 24/7.  He THOUGHT he wanted to eat, but he'd latch on and then change his mind and pull away, but then change his mind again and latch on, and pull away, etc... I became so irritated with this that I'd just put them away, but then I'd have Angus mouthing my shoulder or armpit, and then he'd start fussing when no nipple appeared in his mouth.
It was very frustrating.  The whole "attachment" thing wasn't working for us.  It was actually sabotaging our needs for a good nights sleep.  I highly value sleep.  Aaron needs his sleep to function at work, he needs to have his wits about him.  Angus needs his sleep to be a happy, content baby, and to grow his little brain.  Mom needs her sleep to deal with Angus, who is a nightmare to deal with when he is overtired.

Finally, Angus went into a crib.  Now the issue is that it's in our bedroom.  His bedroom isn't finished yet.  But it's a start.  Now I'm trying to give him the chance to learn how to self-soothe at night.  He does NOT need to eat five or six times during the night.  It seems to be purely recreational at this point.  A habit that he's developed, and it's MY FAULT!
I am trying to not rush to him at the first signs of distress, which according to Dr. Sears, means he is going to be traumatized and emotionally damaged.  Apparently, he's going to grow up to be insecure, unloved, and untrusting.  Well, I don't buy it.  Angus knows which buttons to push, and yes, he DOES know how to manipulate me!  He's a very head-strong, stubborn, little boy, and I'm proud of that, even though it's driving me up the wall.

Last night I gave him a bath, powdered him up, and gave him a clean diaper and clean jammies, then nursed him until he was so comfy and clean and dozy, that he drifted peacefully off to never-never land, and he even smiled as he was going to sleep, as if to convey that everything is alright.  Then I put him in his crib, which is when the screaming began.  He cried for a total of eighty minutes.  That's an HOUR AND TWENTY MINUTES!  A few times it became too much for me, and I had to go in and console him until I figured I was only doing it for MY sake, because as soon as he saw me, he started grinning and arm-flapping, wanting to play. 
The very last time I went in to check on him, his voice was hoarse and his little heart was pounding in his chest.  I felt so awful, I had to pick him up and hug him.  I then discovered that he was roasting hot.  Stupid mommy dressed him too warmly, and had him wrapped in a fleece blanket.  I guess he would've worked up a sweat with all that crying, too.  I unwrapped him, and put him back down, and after five more minutes of pissed-off crying, he went right to sleep.  I felt like the worst mother in the world.  Throughout the night, I let Angus nurse as often as he pleased, because I was feeling so guilty.

But today's a new day, and he doesn't appear to hate me.  He's playing happily beside me, on his own, while I waste the day on the computer googling "How to encourage hair growth" and boring everyone else with details about how my baby sleeps.