Tuesday, February 17, 2009

In Which I Use Far Too Many Caps And Still Solve Nothing.

Lately I've found myself wondering what in the world I did when I used to sleep. For the life of me, I can't figure it out. I imagine that I had all sorts of energy all the time, that I woke up refreshed in the mornings and ready to Take On The Day! I know that wasn't the case, and so I suppose I should be impressed with myself that I can get up four times throughout the night (yes, FOUR) and still be a perfectly functional, relatively stable, energetic person. So that's nice. Less than one paragraph and we have already established my awesomeness. What we have yet to establish is WHY IN THE WORLD I'M UP FOUR TIMES EVERY NIGHT.

The answer? I don't know and it's driving me CRAZY. What I do know is that when Christopher was this age he was sleeping through the night. And we're not talking about the Baby Book Definition here. This is no five-hour stretch of sleep. We're speaking of down at seven, up at seven. That's right. TWELVE HOURS of blissful sleep. It was also at that time that I realized, albeit reluctantly, that a baby who sleeps for TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT does not need to go down a mere two hours later for a morning nap. This was a hard realization for me to accept, but I eventually caught on, we gave up the morning nap, and life was wonderful. Surprisingly, I did not miss the morning nap nearly as much as I expected that I would. Especially considering that it made the afternoon nap stretch from two hours to three. Boy did that make for some blissful afternoons. Still does, actually.

Let's make something clear right here - I am not one to compare babies. I don't like it, it bothers me when I actually DO it, and I am harshly judgmental of those who compare my babies to other peoples' or other peoples' babies to other peoples' babies. You know what I mean. It really fries my bacon even when, in the comparisons, my babies come out on top. (Which they always do because the only people I ever hang out with are family and they are obligated to believe that my children are far superior to others). That said, I can't help but ask my darling little Jacob why he can't just sleep like his brother did! WHY, JACOB, WHY?

It's getting to the point where I can feel myself turning into Bad Lifetime Movie Mom - the one who can't handle the pressure of being a mom and who just wants to stand up in a huff, stomp into whatever room ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING is inhabiting, and pass him off so I can just be done with the whole thing. Not the whole mom thing, of course, but the whole nursing, rocking, bouncing, singing, burping, nursing, bouncing, nursing, pacifier giving, humming, JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY thing.

The exhaustion of the past few weeks, dealing with Grandma's funeral, cleaning out her house, sorting through this that and the other thing, ON TOP OF the Great Sleep Boycott has pushed me just far enough that I can't even manage to sit and rock him anymore. There have been a number of nights when I've given up and carted him back into my room with me where, of course, he sleeps for hours on end with nary a single peep. That came to an abrupt stop, though, the morning I woke up to find my pillow completely covering his face.

Bad mom of the year award? Anyone?

We've diagnosed the problem - at least part of it - as teething. The fact that his upper gums look like they're pulled taut over a string of pearls leads me to believe that he's got some serious pressure in there. Another thing that we can compare against Christopher, my child who drooled like a Saint Bernard, but never let out a single peep over any emerging teeth. I've never seen Jakie drool, really EVER, and yet the emergence of the two bottom teeth that he does have disrupted our lives something fierce. That being said, I feel so guilty letting him cry for even a few minutes because I really think that we're dealing with more here than a baby who is, as of yet, unable to settle himself back down after he's woken up. If he's in pain (which, can I just say? Our first pediatrician tried to convince me was a myth. A MYTH. No doctor, I don't imagine it WOULD hurt if sharp-edged square pieces of enamel were protruding through my baby-fine flesh. Whatsoever would make anyone think THAT?) Anyway, if he's in pain, then I can't just leave him in his dark room to suffer alone.

So pray, PLEASE PRAY, that those teeth will come in and we can be done with this. And when they do? Well then you can stay tuned for the adventures of nursing a biter. Because BOY DOES HE LIKE TO DO THAT. And once he's got TWO rows of teeth? It'll all be down hill from there.

1 comment:

Anita (also nursing a biter sans teeth...for now) said...