the stubborn: it’s a family thing

Tags

co-sleeping, constipation, Louisa, parenting, sleep deprivation, sleep regression, stubbornness

Did your parents every curse you with having a child just like yourself? Well, mine did. I wasn’t a terrible brat or anything, just a mischievous, crazy, always-running free spirit who didn’t really sleep very much. Well, guess what? My daughter is mini me in many ways.  Especially in the sleep department. She has never been much of a sleeper. She went through a short stint of fairly good sleeping at around 8 to 12 weeks old but since then it has always been a bit of a challenge. Which is why we started co-sleeping back in December and it seemed to solve the problem. She still had occasional bad nights but for the most part she slept pretty well being snuggled between us. She still woke up for night feedings but the long stretches between were good enough for me.

And then, as I mentioned in my previous post, last Thursday she was up for hours in the middle of the night. And it happened again on Saturday. And Sunday. She goes to sleep at her normal time, 7:45ish pm and then 45 minutes to an hour later she pops up, sits up, and starts playing/babbling/sitting up/crawling. It’s almost like she can’t sleep because she’s too busy trying out her sweet new skills. Last night was a little better – she wasn’t up for quite as long, but still. I watched her pop out of a seemingly deep sleep into complete wide awakeness (pretty sure that’s not a word, but oh well). For crying out loud. Especially frustrating and horrifying is that she eventually gets so tired that she cries and cries and CRIES no matter what I do to console her because she is so tired that she is overwired. This goes on until she is so exhausted she finally drops off.

So yesterday I did some research (by which I mean I googled some combination of 9-month-old baby not sleeping) and discovered this thing called a sleep regression. I’m not sure there’s any actual truth to it but I think you should believe everything you read on the internet so there. Plus which, it made me feel like there is some hope and that it will pass. My husband has been floating the “cry it out” idea but I actually like sleeping with her and still loathe the idea of putting her in a crib, alone, in a room, alone and just letting her scream herself into exhaustion.

And now for something completely different (which I will try to make relevant so shut up): She is also constipated. Pretty much all the time. As soon as we introduced solid food she stopped having regular bowel movements unless we (at the suggestion of our pediatrician) feed her prunes and apple juice. Which I have to force feed her with a medicine dropper because she doesn’t like it. So here’s what I’m thinking. She is just as stubborn as both of her parents, so much so that she can will herself to stay awake and keep herself from ever pooping again because it hurt that one time. Pretty sound theory, yes?

In the meantime, my sleep-deprived husband has taken to sleeping on the blow-up bed in the spare room while I wrestle the manic toddler in our room. Ah, love. So romantic.

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In which I tell the ugly truth

Tags

breastfeeding, depression, fights, Louisa, mommy guilt, parenting, sleep deprivation

My baby was up for two hours in the middle of the night last night. Again. She did the same thing Sunday night. Off to sleep as normal at 8 pm, slept for a few hours, then boom. Up. Playing. Not crying or wanting to eat. Just playing/crawling/pulling up/babbling. As you know, my baby sleeps with me. We put our mattress back on the box springs and put her crib up right next to it, leaving off the side rail (it converts to a toddler bed, thank god, otherwise it would have been a totally wasted purchase) so instead of being panicked that she’ll roll off onto the floor I just let her roll into it and she sometimes sleeps there for a few hours. So that’s where she plays in the middle of the night. And then head butts me to try to get me to join in. What. The. Fuck. Is it the teething? The crawling? The now trying to stand up? Her just being a turd? What?! Help me out here. My husband and I were both so frustrated we were yelling at each other and at her which resulted in her screaming and him sleeping on the couch because he has to get up at like 5 to go to work. JESUS.  And so. I feel like a terrible mom. There. I said it. And not just because of the not sleeping. It’s also because I never started her on a bottle so now that the weaning process is looming on the horizon I know it’s going to be super difficult (and I’m absolutely dreading it). It’s because I taught her to only go to sleep by breastfeeding and again, weaning – looming – dreading. How the fuck is this going to work? Hi, baby. Please figure out another way to wind down even though you’ve known nothing else for the entirety of your life. Oh, and you have so much energy I wonder if you have a secret crack stash.

But mostly I feel like a shitty mom because I am depressed. Depressed depressed depressed. I coped with being unmedicated during the pregnancy (probably because I was way too anxious to worry about the depression) and have stubbornly lied to myself for the past 9 months since Lou was born that I would be okay, I needed to keep breastfeeding and I didn’t want her getting drugged through the titties. And slowly but surely I am drowning. I love my life. I love my husband, my baby, my job, my apartment – pretty much all of it. But I can’t be happy. That’s the thing that sucks about mental illness, there’s no reason for it – you should be happy, but you just aren’t.  I am constantly negative, critical, self loathing, dark, angry, sarcastic, mean etc etc.  And then I feel guilty (a mother’s specialty, no?) because sure she’s getting the fantastic benefits of breast milk but she’s also getting a shitty me. Wouldn’t she be better off with a happy mom? One who doesn’t sometimes want to scream when she tries to bite my nipple off or climbs on top of me all day long. See what a shitty mom I am?  Fuck my brain chemistry, man. For reals.

So a couple of weeks ago the husband and I had a gigantic screaming fight. Over what? Who knows, but I screamed and threw things and swore and called him names. All in front of our child. Wow, am I ashamed of that moment. And so the next morning I called my doctor. And made an appointment. And went to talk to her about getting back on the magical happy pills that make me less… me. Because me? Kinda sucks right now.

And still I waffled. She wanted me to talk to Lou’s pediatrician to see if it was okay to takes the meds and keep on breastfeeding. I did. It’s not ideal, but you weigh the risks and the benefits, she said. So again I felt guilty. And kept on keeping on. And on. And on. And then yesterday I had some kind of moment of clarity where I realized that I need to be better, happy, normal. Even if that means taking drugs while breastfeeding. Even if that means weaning earlier than I normally planned. And so I called my doctor to say “SIGN ME UP”. And so I checked out books from the library on weaning. And I felt… better…  Still depressed (dark, angry, bitter, caustic, toxic…) and guilty, but better.

Attention: toy makers, you’re doing it wrong

Tags

babies, Desitin, IHOP, Lenny and Carl, Louisa, parenting, Stuart, toys

My 8 -&-1/2-month-old daughter’s favorite play things, in no particular order:

The booger sucker. I used it to distract her whilst diapering, and now she hunts it down. Which has been made lots easier by the fact that she is now crawling. Heaven help me. (PS – why on earth would you buy these things? The hospital loads you up when you have the baby, right? We got at least two. Just sayin’)

The Desitin!! (warning: there’s some potentially naughty words in that video.) Again, discovered by accident whilst diapering.

My husband’s glasses. She pulls them right off his face and shoves them in her mouth.

A straw. Discovered (again, by accident) last weekend at IHOP. She’s a good grabber I tell ya. And she only has one hand for cripes!

My cell phone. Despite the fact that she has her own. In fact, she has two. But somehow mine tastes better.

My thigh. She uses it to blow raspberries and make various farting noises. She is definitely related to my father and his brothers. For the love.

The cats’ tails. I can’t tell you how pleased they are now that the screaming thing we brought home can move and grab them.

So for her birthday I think we’ll just wrap all of these items (excluding my thigh, of course) and hand them over, whaddaya think?