Day 6 of sleep training: We've finally started finding the "easy" in the Sleep Easy Solution. After a bedtime delay last night (due to our bass-pounding irritatingly rude next-door neighbors), Tiny Overlord went down after only 90 seconds of crying. And her morning nap produced only 3 minutes of crying. To top things off, she's sleeping for LONG stretches at a time, which is great for her AND me and Dave; she gets desperately needed rest, we get a break from her AND rest.
THANK THE GODS!!!! I'm still waiting for the day when I put her in her crib and she smiles up at me lovingly, rolls over, and goes to sleep. But I'll take what I can get.
Now, excuse the shortness of this entry, but we just got iPhones as an early Christmas present to each other, and I hear mine calling me for some non-baby play.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Measuring My Life in Minutes
Day 2 of sleep training the Tiny Overlord. We're using The Sleep Easy Solution. It's possibly the worst misnomer I've ever had the displeasure to encounter. Oh, there's sleep; the easy part is somewhere in the future, I'm assuming. And I hope the adage about "assuming" isn't true in this case.
Previous to this training, we identified 3 levels of crying:
1. Slight whine, no tears. "Mommy, I'm displeased with you."
2. Crying, with slightly tearing eyes. "Okay, Mommy, why aren't you doing something about my displeasure?"
3. Intense crying, with large tears rolling down cheeks, accompanied by gasping breaths. "Mommy, WHY AREN'T YOU DOING SOMETHING TO COMFORT ME?!?!?!"
Well, since we've started sleep training, we've blazed new crying territory: the dreaded, the abhorrent LEVEL 4!!!! (Cue ominous music) There are no words I can provide that would express what she may be saying with this cry.
4. Racking sobs, face red with uncirculated blood, with spells of silent screaming--as in: her mouth is open, but no sound is coming out.
And I used to think Stage 3 was unbearable.
To mothers who are reading this, you know the kind of physical pain that I experienced last night. It's a kind of pain that's hard to describe; I used to THINK I understood what mothers were talking about when they said they couldn't bear to hear their child cry. I was wrong. Yet another thing I understand better now. To have your child cry, especially level 3 or 4 crying, is to have a visceral, overwhelming wave of physical pain overcome your body.
Last night, I checked on her after 10 minutes as the book prescribed, and was confronted with the most difficult and disturbing image I've ever had to face. I've endured a miscarriage, with all the bloody pain and crushed hope that entails. I've endured a 26 hour labor, 18 hours of which were unmedicated, and almost all of it was done flat on my back, the most painful position in which to give birth. And I had a baby pushed back up inside me after a failed attempt at a vaginal delivery, in order to position her for an unscheduled C-section.
I've faced and overcome bodily pain, and am still recovering from emotional pain and feelings of personal, womanly failure.
But this: the sight of my baby, who has so far been dependent on me to provide comfort, writhing in her crib, turning her face in the dark toward the scent and presence of her Protector and Nurturer. Seeing her tortured face illuminated by the glow of the hall light, hearing her choked sobs of despair, and not permitted to touch her or comfort her: this image, these sounds, and this powerlessness were my undoing. I saw her in pain, heard her cries, and yet knew that I had to let her figure out how to soothe herself. She's growing up, and I have to let her.
THAT'S the most arduous experience I've ever had to endure.
I spent the remaining time of last night's training session, all 10 minutes or 10 eternities, hunched over in throbbing, raw anguish, struggling to walk to my bed, where I finally curled up and repeated over and over to myself: "She'll be okay, she'll be okay, she'll be okay. . . "
Previous to this training, we identified 3 levels of crying:
1. Slight whine, no tears. "Mommy, I'm displeased with you."
2. Crying, with slightly tearing eyes. "Okay, Mommy, why aren't you doing something about my displeasure?"
3. Intense crying, with large tears rolling down cheeks, accompanied by gasping breaths. "Mommy, WHY AREN'T YOU DOING SOMETHING TO COMFORT ME?!?!?!"
Well, since we've started sleep training, we've blazed new crying territory: the dreaded, the abhorrent LEVEL 4!!!! (Cue ominous music) There are no words I can provide that would express what she may be saying with this cry.
4. Racking sobs, face red with uncirculated blood, with spells of silent screaming--as in: her mouth is open, but no sound is coming out.
And I used to think Stage 3 was unbearable.
To mothers who are reading this, you know the kind of physical pain that I experienced last night. It's a kind of pain that's hard to describe; I used to THINK I understood what mothers were talking about when they said they couldn't bear to hear their child cry. I was wrong. Yet another thing I understand better now. To have your child cry, especially level 3 or 4 crying, is to have a visceral, overwhelming wave of physical pain overcome your body.
Last night, I checked on her after 10 minutes as the book prescribed, and was confronted with the most difficult and disturbing image I've ever had to face. I've endured a miscarriage, with all the bloody pain and crushed hope that entails. I've endured a 26 hour labor, 18 hours of which were unmedicated, and almost all of it was done flat on my back, the most painful position in which to give birth. And I had a baby pushed back up inside me after a failed attempt at a vaginal delivery, in order to position her for an unscheduled C-section.
I've faced and overcome bodily pain, and am still recovering from emotional pain and feelings of personal, womanly failure.
But this: the sight of my baby, who has so far been dependent on me to provide comfort, writhing in her crib, turning her face in the dark toward the scent and presence of her Protector and Nurturer. Seeing her tortured face illuminated by the glow of the hall light, hearing her choked sobs of despair, and not permitted to touch her or comfort her: this image, these sounds, and this powerlessness were my undoing. I saw her in pain, heard her cries, and yet knew that I had to let her figure out how to soothe herself. She's growing up, and I have to let her.
THAT'S the most arduous experience I've ever had to endure.
I spent the remaining time of last night's training session, all 10 minutes or 10 eternities, hunched over in throbbing, raw anguish, struggling to walk to my bed, where I finally curled up and repeated over and over to myself: "She'll be okay, she'll be okay, she'll be okay. . . "
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Loosening the Apron Strings. . .Just a Little
Tonight is the second time we've left the Tiny Overlord with someone other than family. Our good friends, Mark and Tracy, have agreed to watch TO while Dave and I attend another friend's wedding. And I'm spending my time until 2:30, when Tracy and Mark arrive, convincing myself that they are not going to encounter anything cataclysmic. Because I'm pretty sure the chances of a forest fire or earthquake are small, right???
I used to roll my eyes at our Friends With Kids (FWK) who confided to me that they had hangups about leaving their little ones with babysitters/family. I just couldn't understand the problem: what's so hard about escaping your bonds for a few hours to get stuff done, or just have some selfish time? Well, I get it now.
It's many seconds of worry, all in flashes while doing routine tasks.
Cleaning the kitchen: what if they have problems with the bottle? What if she chokes on the milk the way they feed her, and they have to administer CPR and they don't remember how? What if she runs out of cold teethers, and starts screaming uncontrollably?
Doing the laundry: what if she's grown out of all the clean onesies she has, and needs a bigger one, but the bigger ones are dirty? Will they know how to control the thermostat so she doesn't freeze?
Showering: What if she misses us and won't be consoled? What if she's tired? She doesn't go down to sleep for anyone but us. What if she needs us and we're not here? I'll have failed, right? I'll be a horrible mother for leaving her. I left her.
And then I take a breath and talk to myself, trying to restore my sanity and push down my inner-Nana. (My mother, of rabid squirrel logic. The ironic thing is, I no longer think my mother was out of line that time. More on this story later. . .)
To self: Mark and Tracy are responsible, rational, intelligent adults. If TO runs out of clean clothes that fit (unlikely anyway), they could wrap her in a blanket and/or turn up the thermostat. Our thermostat doesn't require an engineering degree in the first place; in the second place, Tracy knows how to work it.
TO has never choked on milk before, and it's pretty much impossible to do that anyway. Worst case, it'll go down the wrong way, and she'll cough. She's done that before, while I've been breastfeeding her, so she'll be okay with a bottle, too.
She has ungodly amounts of teethers. I'll just have to ask them to wash them and put them back in the fridge if it looks like she's running low. Again, they're intelligent, responsible adults, not morons.
As for the sleeping issues, they're real. Readers of this blog know TO has some serious sleep issues that Dave and I can't even tame. So, I'm hoping that Tracy and Mark can just hang in there if TO gets too cranky.
Have I mentioned that we'll be putting her down for a nap before we leave? And that we'll only be gone for 3 1/2 hours? And that I'm being completely irrational? I need to tell myself, continuously if necessary, that I'm not a bad mother for leaving my child. And it's not even "leaving her". It's taking a break from her, which I know will be good for both of us. After all, she's growing up; I need to start learning to let go a little now.
I used to roll my eyes at our Friends With Kids (FWK) who confided to me that they had hangups about leaving their little ones with babysitters/family. I just couldn't understand the problem: what's so hard about escaping your bonds for a few hours to get stuff done, or just have some selfish time? Well, I get it now.
It's many seconds of worry, all in flashes while doing routine tasks.
Cleaning the kitchen: what if they have problems with the bottle? What if she chokes on the milk the way they feed her, and they have to administer CPR and they don't remember how? What if she runs out of cold teethers, and starts screaming uncontrollably?
Doing the laundry: what if she's grown out of all the clean onesies she has, and needs a bigger one, but the bigger ones are dirty? Will they know how to control the thermostat so she doesn't freeze?
Showering: What if she misses us and won't be consoled? What if she's tired? She doesn't go down to sleep for anyone but us. What if she needs us and we're not here? I'll have failed, right? I'll be a horrible mother for leaving her. I left her.
And then I take a breath and talk to myself, trying to restore my sanity and push down my inner-Nana. (My mother, of rabid squirrel logic. The ironic thing is, I no longer think my mother was out of line that time. More on this story later. . .)
To self: Mark and Tracy are responsible, rational, intelligent adults. If TO runs out of clean clothes that fit (unlikely anyway), they could wrap her in a blanket and/or turn up the thermostat. Our thermostat doesn't require an engineering degree in the first place; in the second place, Tracy knows how to work it.
TO has never choked on milk before, and it's pretty much impossible to do that anyway. Worst case, it'll go down the wrong way, and she'll cough. She's done that before, while I've been breastfeeding her, so she'll be okay with a bottle, too.
She has ungodly amounts of teethers. I'll just have to ask them to wash them and put them back in the fridge if it looks like she's running low. Again, they're intelligent, responsible adults, not morons.
As for the sleeping issues, they're real. Readers of this blog know TO has some serious sleep issues that Dave and I can't even tame. So, I'm hoping that Tracy and Mark can just hang in there if TO gets too cranky.
Have I mentioned that we'll be putting her down for a nap before we leave? And that we'll only be gone for 3 1/2 hours? And that I'm being completely irrational? I need to tell myself, continuously if necessary, that I'm not a bad mother for leaving my child. And it's not even "leaving her". It's taking a break from her, which I know will be good for both of us. After all, she's growing up; I need to start learning to let go a little now.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Praying for mercy
It's official: Tiny Overlord has won this battle of the sleep wars. The last few weeks have been. . .well, the term "hell on earth" is so trite that it has really lost its effect, but my extreme sleep deprived self can't come up with anything better right now. Hubby is driving TO around (in the rain--why is it always raining on nights like these?), in the last ditch hope that she'll fall asleep and STAY asleep. The plan is to leave her in the car seat once she gets back home.
Pre-baby, I read many studies stating that leaving babies in car seats to sleep was bad because they'll grow up to be a drain on society, or something. Maybe it was that they had a higher chance of being Republican, I don't know. Point is, they said it was bad, and at the time it was enough to scare me into not doing it. Well, those studies never took two parents' sanities into account, because I'll risk TO being a little slower on her development for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Or the chance to eat. (It's 11:40 PM--I haven't eaten dinner yet. Such is the life of a mother desperate for her child to sleep, so desperate that she'll forgo food and volunteer to become a human pacifier in the hopes that it will lull her child into a sweet, long lasting slumber.)
Hubby has returned. . .let us cross our fingers, people. . .
Pre-baby, I read many studies stating that leaving babies in car seats to sleep was bad because they'll grow up to be a drain on society, or something. Maybe it was that they had a higher chance of being Republican, I don't know. Point is, they said it was bad, and at the time it was enough to scare me into not doing it. Well, those studies never took two parents' sanities into account, because I'll risk TO being a little slower on her development for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Or the chance to eat. (It's 11:40 PM--I haven't eaten dinner yet. Such is the life of a mother desperate for her child to sleep, so desperate that she'll forgo food and volunteer to become a human pacifier in the hopes that it will lull her child into a sweet, long lasting slumber.)
Hubby has returned. . .let us cross our fingers, people. . .
Sunday, December 6, 2009
How I was wrong: part 1 of who knows how many.
I'm not entirely new at the mommy thing. I've been doing the SAHM thing for 5 1/2 months now. But it seems like I've still not gotten my footing. The Tiny Overlord (as my husband and I loving refer to her--TO for short) just keeps throwing new stuff at us.
Everyone told me about the newborn phase, and they gave vague descriptions that hint at terror. Vague enough that you (or at least I) wave off as over exaggeration. Well, the joke's on me, folks, 'cause everything "those people" said was true, and then some. What they didn't say was that, in some ways, it gets much harder as time goes on.
I, for one, have reached all new levels of exhaustion. Pre-TO, I thought I understood. I pulled all-nighters in high school and college. I even stayed up partying all night a few times in college. (Not in high school--I was too much of a high-achieving dork for that kind of tomfoolery.) So, going into this baby thing, I thought I was prepared. Plus, (I told myself) I am a night owl: around the clock feedings won't hurt me at all. I think I thought I had an "S" on my shirt or something.
TO came along, and now I'm humbled on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. That beautifully organized and classic Minimal style nursery? It's now functionally disarrayed, clothes and spit rags and swaddles draped everywhere. We have hardwoods and no rug in that room; this is the only thing that saves it from being covered in her toys.
Pre-TO, I swore I wouldn't let baby things take over the house. And I'm pretty sure my friends-with-kids (FWK) laughed at me behind my back. (Amber, Jenni: feel free to laugh in my face now. I can take it.) In the family room to date, we have a swing, a Jumperoo, an exersaucer, and a pack and play. If you don't know what those things are, congratulations! You have a life and are probably pretty well rested. And why do we have those things? Because I value my sanity, though I'm holding on to it by the tips of my fingers most days. Mommy me has realized that those Things keep TO off my hip and out of my ears and mouth. (TO continues to explore the wide range of Sticking My Fingers Into People's Facial Orifices. It's a new performance art she's pioneering.)
This blog, I'm hoping, will also help me keep my sanity. Once upon a time, I used to be a decent writer. I certainly enjoyed it. And if I can enjoy this, while managing to be entertaining and hopefully a little informative to others, I've accomplished something. Something other than changing diapers and wiping drool.
More TO adventures to come. . .
Everyone told me about the newborn phase, and they gave vague descriptions that hint at terror. Vague enough that you (or at least I) wave off as over exaggeration. Well, the joke's on me, folks, 'cause everything "those people" said was true, and then some. What they didn't say was that, in some ways, it gets much harder as time goes on.
I, for one, have reached all new levels of exhaustion. Pre-TO, I thought I understood. I pulled all-nighters in high school and college. I even stayed up partying all night a few times in college. (Not in high school--I was too much of a high-achieving dork for that kind of tomfoolery.) So, going into this baby thing, I thought I was prepared. Plus, (I told myself) I am a night owl: around the clock feedings won't hurt me at all. I think I thought I had an "S" on my shirt or something.
TO came along, and now I'm humbled on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. That beautifully organized and classic Minimal style nursery? It's now functionally disarrayed, clothes and spit rags and swaddles draped everywhere. We have hardwoods and no rug in that room; this is the only thing that saves it from being covered in her toys.
Pre-TO, I swore I wouldn't let baby things take over the house. And I'm pretty sure my friends-with-kids (FWK) laughed at me behind my back. (Amber, Jenni: feel free to laugh in my face now. I can take it.) In the family room to date, we have a swing, a Jumperoo, an exersaucer, and a pack and play. If you don't know what those things are, congratulations! You have a life and are probably pretty well rested. And why do we have those things? Because I value my sanity, though I'm holding on to it by the tips of my fingers most days. Mommy me has realized that those Things keep TO off my hip and out of my ears and mouth. (TO continues to explore the wide range of Sticking My Fingers Into People's Facial Orifices. It's a new performance art she's pioneering.)
This blog, I'm hoping, will also help me keep my sanity. Once upon a time, I used to be a decent writer. I certainly enjoyed it. And if I can enjoy this, while managing to be entertaining and hopefully a little informative to others, I've accomplished something. Something other than changing diapers and wiping drool.
More TO adventures to come. . .
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