...But Other Than That, Everything's Great

Uhg.  It's 9:30 am and baby is finally down for her first nap.  Av is off to school with our carpool buddy - miraculous, wonderful, sweet, kind, angelic car pool buddy.  Thank God for her.  I don't think I could have managed to get everyone out the door to drive to school this morning.  I don't have any crystal meth handy, and that's what it would have taken.  Four hours of (frequently interrupted) sleep last night.  Again.  I can't go on like this.

I swore I wouldn't use this blog to complain about parenting, but sometimes you just gotta.  Maybe it's healthy, even.  My children shouldn't grow up with illusions about this job being easy....should they?  I mean, it's still the best thing that ever happened to me, being their mommy.  I still feel like the luckiest person who ever lived.  Complaining about the hard stuff doesn't take away of the good stuff.  So here goes.

I know why we're having bad nights - if I think about it, it makes sense.  El's been sick for over a month, really.  She got her first cold at the end of September, and it turned into ear infections which antibiotics have yet to resolve for her.  We're almost done with the second one now.  Of course they cause diarrhea, which typically explodes around 5:30 am.  After the diaper and inevitable outfit change, she's too awake to fall back asleep, but she's still tired enough to be enormously cranky.  Plus she's cutting two more teeth.  Plus she's in the throws of some really intense separation anxiety.  This poor child - when will she get a break?  It's hard to know what to do at night when she wakes up for the fifth time and wants to nurse, and I feel sorry for her and know that nursing her is the best way to soothe her, but at the same time I'm having bizarre fantasies like jumping up and breaking off a blade of the ceiling fan and gutting myself with it.  That's what I'd rather do than nurse, at 2:30am after sleeping for three 35 minute chunks.  On the heels of weeks of nights like that.  It really does mess with your head.

Oh, and the dishwasher's busted - good timing, we're hosting Thanksgiving.  We certainly don't have the money to fix or replace it.  I have an appointment with our accountant in a couple hours to find out how f**ked we are on our taxes this year - we haven't paid much of them yet, GW being self-employed now and all.  Of course we didn't make any money this year, so I'm sure that will help.  But we will owe something.  And there's Av's surgery to pay off and the bill for our next door neighbor's pool and GW's licensure renewal and car insurance and my new health insurance (if you can call it that) and we need a termite inspection and possibly treatment and there is some loose siding on the house and really how much longer can the Saturn last?  Maybe a new car soon.  Where will the money come from for that?  Wait, lemme just....pull it out of my butt here....oh, there it is.  My house is in such disarray I can never find anything, and I feel like I can't let the baby crawl around on the floor, at least not downstairs.  But no time to do anything about that.  My blood pressure is back up, but I can't go to the doctor - no health insurance this month.  Is any of this sounding familiar?  I'm sure I'm describing the experience of many parents these days.  It helps to know I'm certainly not alone, although I wish I was not alone in my wealth and leisure and perfect health and well-organized home.

Writing this is making me feel a little better.  See?  Complaining can be good. There are plenty of silver linings, when I look at it with my reasoning skills intact.  The baby will get better, and will sleep better soon.  I probably won't have a stroke in the next few months.  Not being able to go to the doctor has forced me to do stuff to protect my health, so I'm eating really clean and exercising a little and not drinking beer and actually losing a few pounds.  The neighbor's pool didn't need repairs, just a check-up.  GW's a rock star at his new job and starting to make more money.  The dishwasher sucked anyway.

We'll get through.

Co-Sleeping is Awesome, Even When it Sucks

Maybe I'm being overly sentimental, because I know El is my last baby.  But practically speaking, sleeping with her is the only way I can get even the smidgen of rest I do get.  I can't imagine how I would do it, getting out of bed several times a night (or even twice, which is her normal awakening routine), spending twenty minutes rocking or nursing her back to sleep, then putting her down and crawling back into bed to spend another twenty minutes getting myself to sleep, only to be awakened an hour later to do it all over again.  Some might say (and have said, ad nauseum) that she'd sleep longer if left in a crib.  I call b.s. on that - just because I know my kids and neither one of them cottoned to sleeping by themselves, except, thankfully, for daytime naps.

I don't know, call me crazy if you want.  It has been awful lately, with her going through whatever phase she's going through these days, and waking up every five seconds at night.  Don't get me wrong, I am human and I'm not a very nice one when I haven't had enough rest.  There's something primal in the brain, something that can't help but feel hostile toward any creature that threatens your survival in one way or another.  It's just part of the deal.  At those times, you pass your baby off to the other adult in your household, assuming you're lucky enough to have one.  But many nights I lay there with her, even after I've lost count of how many times she's woken up, and enjoy the feel of her little weight sprawled across me, the softness of her head, the happiness of being able to make her feel better after she wakes up with her little face all scrunched up and sad.  I wait until she's sufficiently unconscious, then ease her over to her side of the bed.  Then she's all peaceful, angelic baby face.  Sometimes I watch her for a bit, but never for long because sleep takes me over pretty fast once my body is free and I know that my baby is safe and content.  When she wakes up again, I won't have to move very far to help her.  And it'll all be over a nanosecond from now.

Okay, So It's Not All Cotton Candy and Fluffy Bunnies...

Ssoooooooooooooo   ssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy.  So why the hell aren't I in bed?  Obviously my baby is, or I wouldn't be writing this.  It's just that even moms need a few minutes to just be themselves once in a while.  Plus I need to vent, and to say a few things about how awesome Av is.


The day started at 7am after the second night in a row of El waking up every 20 minutes (I'm not exaggerating), crying and/or wanting to nurse.  GW was downstairs with her last night for a couple hours, probably at about 3am, I don't know.  This morning was probably the worst I've felt since El was born.  She's really, on average, not a bad sleeper - the past few nights have been unusual.  You never really know for sure what the deal is with babies this young, but our guess is a combination of developmental stuff and tummy trouble.  Anyway, this morning I felt like I'd spent the night being chased by rhinos while running uphill dodging a rock slide.  I subtly hinted to GW that it might be a good idea for him to take the day off.  By subtly hinting I mean I begged him outright.  He said no, too bad, you're on your own, and it serves you right for all the cruel stuff you did to your mother when you were a baby.  Yep, that's what he said.  There I go, being sarcastic again.  Hey, it makes me feel better.  When  you're this tired, you get license to do things you wouldn't normally get away with, like aggressively blaming others for your problems and disabusing the people you claim to love.

My wonderful friend E. rescued me from a morning of feeling sorry for myself.  She came over with a playmate for Av (her beyond-cute 2 year-old daughter) and fudge.  She kept me company and poured me green tea until I started to feel a little less like a bug squashed under somebody's shoe.  Her visit was so rejuvenating that I later mustered the energy for a short grocery run.  Of course, that went without a hitch.  Oh, wait.  No it didn't.  See, it was sprinkling out, and supposed to rain harder later, so I swept up the kids pretty quickly after lunch and got everybody's shoes on, if not hair brushed.  I opened the door to go out to the car and somebody opened the Great Fawcet In The Sky right at that moment, but I soldiered on, knowing that if I kept my big mouth shut on my complaints, Av would be delighted to go out in the rain.  I did, and she was.  Get the baby in, buckle up, drive drive drive and here we are at the grocery store, rain's back to a light drizzle, yay.  Open the side door to a smiling baby and a really big smell.  Yep, the little babe who hasn't crapped for a week has finally voided her bowels.  It's a wonderful thing, really, something I would have celebrated in a big way if we'd been at home - lots of clapping and excitement and praise, maybe even streamers.  But we're at the grocery store and it's raining and of course I didn't bring the diaper bag.  Well.....I just made it a really fast shopping trip, and poor little El didn't get as many admirers as she's used to on an outing like that, because the smell around her was like a force field about eight feet in diameter, keeping her would-be friends at smiling distance.  I know, I'm a bad mommy.  Tell me something I don't know.

Other than my angelic friend coming over this morning, what got me through today was Av's little girl wit.  When I can't find my keys, she's like, "This is a job for Diamond Bat Girl!!" (one of her alter-egos) and goes running off somewhere to help me find them.  When she catches me looking forlorn as I bring a sobbing El downstairs after my eleventh attempt to put her down for a nap, Av runs over and tries (in vain, but still) to make her laugh.  She cracks these clever jokes that I can only imagine she picks up at school, or maybe she watches more Jimmy Neutron than I know about.  One of them I have to share - this was at bedtime, and we'd gotten through most of the routine but had apparently forgotten to have her go to the bathroom.  She comes up to the bed where I'm nursing El and says, "If you're having a tea party?  Remember not to drink too much tea or you'll have to.....have to.....I'll be right back!" and she dashes off down the hall.  I mean, that is damn funny, is it not?  Where does she get this stuff?  I love it.  Thanks, Av, for being such an awesome kid.  I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm glad you're mine.

Hey, Genius, It's Called a Baby Monitor.

It's one of those days.  Weeks.

Baby's having trouble sleeping, as her tummy's bothering her because of the constipation, which led to the diaper rash, which was all caused by carrots.  My fault.  Started her on solids too early, it seems.   To add insult to injury, last night a lone cricket the size of my pinky fingernail made its way into our bedroom, and started chirping at jackhammer volume.  GW and I found him and flushed him out, after much ado, and eventually I got the baby back to sleep.  By eventually, I mean never.  So it seemed.

Sleep deprivation does weird things to a person.  I'm not myself.  I went to a board meeting last night at Av's school, and couldn't put a whole sentence together.  This morning I poured boiling water from the tea kettle directly onto my hand, instead of into the mug.  That kind of stung a little.  Self-punishment?  For what?  Inadvertently giving my baby diaper rash, maybe.  I'm probably reading too much into it.  I do that.

This is El eating the offending carrots.  Seemed like a good idea at the time, to both of us.

And we're dutifully washing them off afterwards.  Because most of them ended up on the outside of her body and the surrounding area (table, high chair, wall, window), not the inside.  And yet they still wreaked havoc on her poor little bowels.  Guess it doesn't take much when you weigh 16 pounds.

My friend E. came over the other day with her two kids, so they could play in the pool with Av.  I hung around outside the pool while El slept upstairs, and I kept going in and out the back door so I could listen for her in case she woke up.  At one point I was racking my brain, trying to figure how I could keep tabs on El without having to constantly interrupt my pool-skimming and conversation with E. to go stand at the bottom of the stairs for 90 seconds.  E. read my mind pretty easily, and suggested delicately (so as not to make it obvious that I've become retarded), "Got a monitor?" 

See?  No sleep.