Fighting the Sandman

The baby is asleep.  Hallelujah.  Not that I don't love the baby.  I totally love the baby.  But the baby is asleep.  NOBODY MOVE.

When your baby is a light sleeper, or a non-napper, you will beat the living daylights out of the UPS man for ringing the doorbell.  The mailman may have to mace you because you will attack him for being too loud walking up the steps of your home.  I almost went out with a bat to beat a car to death for having a misbehaving alarm that wouldn't shut the Hell up.  God forbid there's construction going on anywhere within earshot of your sleeping child.  There will be bloodshed.

The other day I actually whisper-yelled at my husband for "breathing too loud."  The baby is sleeping.  THE WORLD MUST STOP REVOLVING.

There was a time when the baby slept all the live long day, but that was in the early, newborn weeks when he was trying to grow brain cells and whatnot.  For three months or so, he literally slept all day long.  It was heavenly bliss, looking back on it now, although when it was happening I complained that he "wasn't doing anything."  What a moron I was.

Now, he's six months.  SIX WHOLE MONTHS.  I can hardly believe it!  The changes we have all witnessed in this half a year have been mind boggling.  But the sleep thing, oh my.

He stopped sleeping all day long and started napping.  At first it was a nap every two hours awake.  That was at around three, four months old.  Now, it's two naps, if I'm lucky.  One early morning long nap, which lasts around two to three hours, IF I'M LUCKY.

The afternoon nap used to be like clockwork.  One or two o'clock, he'd pass out for two hours.  Now?  Not so much.  He's just too alert, too awake, and too cute to sleep, apparently.

The problem is that when he doesn't sleep during the day, he is a miserable little turd.  No offense to you babies out there, but when you don't nap, (and this seems to be a fairly universal thing I'm experiencing) you are little turds the entire time you are awake.  You don't seem happy about anything, you want to be held and never put down, you whine, cry, whimper, pinch, bite.  It's like a free for all bitch fest up in this house when the baby doesn't nap.  And then, around bedtime, you pass out...and wake up...and pass out...and wake up...until the sun rises.  It's just wrong on so many levels.

So I started forcing nap time.  "Hey," I told the baby, "All the baby books say you can spoil a newborn up 'til about six months.  Well, pal, you're SIX MONTHS OLD.  The party's over."

It was like he was fighting death every time I put him down.  He would whip his head from side to side violently, beat his tiny fists on the sofa cushion, and do leg lifts, just to beat off the sandman.  It was impressive, but I was not giving up.  After a few weeks of battle, he finally began sleeping on a regular routine.  After waking in the morning, he'd eat, then quiet play, then he'd start yawning after about 2 hours.  Nap would soon follow.  It was perfectly set.  I would get two to three hours of nap, or computer time, whatever I wanted.  Ahhh, lovely.

His naps usually took place on the sofa, which used to be wide enough for him to lounge upon without fear of accidentally rolling off.  But soon, he was too gigantic for the space.  I had no choice but to try to nap him in his crib.

I thought napping on the couch was tough.  The crib?  Surely I was delusional.  There was no way this baby was going to nap in his crib.  I had been putting off this transition for months, thinking it would be pure torture for both of us.

So yesterday, I saw the rubbing of the eyes, the yawns, the red and watery stare.  He whined when I put him down to play.  It was now or never.

We walked into his room, I put him in the crib, played the Glow Worm and the Sleep Sheep...threw every calming trick I knew at him.  I put a soft blanket over him and crossed my fingers.  He grabbed the blanket and pulled it to his face, rolled on his side, sucked his Soothie, and promptly fell asleep.

And that's how it went today, just about a half hour ago.  Which is why I'm on the computer typing this RIGHT NOW.  Hallelujah!

Exhaustion

Baby turned 3 weeks. Now it's official. I'm exhausted.

It's not because of anything tangible. In fact, we've been spoiled by all the generous and good natured friends delivering us food in exchange for a turn holding the baby. I'm actually surprised at how many people have never held a newborn before. They all come in, looking for a turn holding him. And when they do, they gingerly cup his head and balance him with two hands like he's a breakable sculpture...every one who has come by has done this. It's pretty amusing.

And it's not the baby keeping me up at night that is making me so tired. In fact, he's been a good baby, sleeping all night and waking in the morning light, just like clockwork since day one.

He's also been doing a number of other things that are unbearably cute, such as sucking his fingers and finding his thumb, smiling and making newborn noises...(which aren't really that much to describe but are still adorable.) He is the first person who makes me melt by yawning at everything I say to him. He sticks out his tongue and my heart dissolves.

In the morning he tends to wake up in a good mood, sit around on a pillow for 30 to 45 minutes, just staring at things. Then, he eats, naps for two hours or so, wakes up, eats again, and then makes more noises and smiles some more.

The witching hour comes around 8 or 9 p.m. when the sun sets. Then he turns into the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde baby.

Oh, the screams. He eats, he screams. He poops, we change him, he screams. We swaddle him, he screams. We rock him. Screams. It's neverending and in the first two weeks I thought I would lose my mind. Nothing seemed to soothe him, not even a finger in him mouth, which usually pacifies him for a good 20-30 minutes.

He finally passes out after a 3-4 hour marathon, sometimes less, sometimes more. Around midnight, he is so over-tired he simply can't keep up the drama. He is knocked out for hours after that. We've managed to get him to sleep at 11:30 p.m., but that was the earliest he's ever gone down. It's usually midnight or 12:30.

Admittedly, my husband is far better at soothing him at night. He has the right temperament for it, and doesn't get upset easily, unlike me and my raging hormones. They're still finding their balance, apparently. And although my mood swings have calmed down considerably, there is the occasional "burst into tears" moment that I can't seem to contain.

The only thing I can reason when it comes to being exhausted is that I'm emotionally wrecked and still healing from the birth. The baby can be tiring, on occasion, especially when I just can't figure out what he needs from me. I tend to get frustrated and throw my hands up in the air more than I care to admit, but it's getting better, slowly but surely.

Also, the pain is pretty uncomfortable. I'm still trying to breast-feed, which has been no picnic. I won't give up, but I will complain about it. It hurts. A lot. I'm cracked and bleeding a lot, which leads to bloody breast milk. When I pumped the other day, it was pink, not white. And when the baby spit up clots of blood the other week, I freaked out. Then, we called the advice nurse and she explained it was most likely MY blood, and I freaked out some more.

Breast-feeding is a chore right now, but I'm anticipating a change soon. Hopefully, what everyone tells me is true...it will be better by the 1st or 2nd month. I'm holding out with a clenched jaw until then.

The pelvic pain has subsided somewhat, and the hemorrhoids have calmed down to a manageable state. But I'm still popping prescription Motrin and praying for my body to return to a normal state eventually.

Being in pain on top of being depressed, and then capping it off with caring for a newborn is what pushes me over the edge on bad days. If I was tackling one of those three things, it would be far easier for me to remain positive. But these three things all at once make me feel...well, exhausted.