I waiver between being a half-full and half-empty person, myself. But an empty glass in the fridge person? Lord have mercy.
Maybe He’s Teething? When Science and Sleep Deprivation Collide
Not to brag, but my husband and I seem to have an uncanny ability to make babies who don’t sleep. We don’t want to make anyone jealous, but our babies are professional not sleepers. We have high hopes that one day, in the throes of a fitful night of no sleep, they will find the cure for cancer, or maybe solve that whole world hunger problem. But for now, they just keep us awake while we rock, shush, sway and wonder WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON WITH OUR KIDS SO THAT THEY DON’T SLEEP?! YOU ARE SO TIRED! WHY WON’T YOU GO THE F*CK TO SLEEP?!
Okay, that came out a little on the intense side, but I’m feeling a little intense about how much sleep I’m not getting. I am also feeling a little intense about needing to find a solution pronto so that I stop aging faster than Mother Gothel from Tangled after Eugene gives Rapunzel her snazzy new ‘do.
#SelfieSaturday!
I am not alone in my quest for golden slumber, as my exhausted husband is equally as desperate for some shut eye before he heads back to work next week. And just like when Baby 1.0 was a newborn, even knowing all she needed was time (19 months to be exact), we find ourselves frantically pacing around our living room, a fussy baby in one hand, and a freshly rejected pacifier in the other, wondering what we are doing wrong.
Because we are scientists (okay, I’m not a real scientist, but I once got a 104% on a biology test), we try to talk it out. We try to think through it. We try to be reasonable and rational, and above all else, scientific, because science doesn’t lie like assholes on the internet. And just like any good scientist, we start by asking questions. So many questions. Too many questions. Questions tumble out of our mouths like termites from a broken nest, wriggling around and making everyone edgy. Just this morning, my husband and I found ourselves in an all too familiar question spiral that pretty much went word for word like this:
WHY WON’T HE SLEEP AT NIGHT? Maybe he’s teething? Maybe he’s in a growth spurt? Maybe he’s too cold? Maybe he’s too hot? Maybe we should swaddle him? Maybe we should swaddle him with one arm out? Maybe we shouldn’t swaddle him? Maybe we should change his diaper more often? Maybe we shouldn’t change his diaper so much? Maybe we should hold him more during the day? Maybe we should be putting him down to nap by himself during the day? Maybe I’m feeding him too much? Maybe he’s hungry? Maybe we need to up our white noise game? Maybe it’s too noisy? Maybe I’m trying to put him down too soon in his sleep cycle? Maybe he needs to learn to fall asleep when he’s drowsy but awake? Maybe he has gas? Maybe this is normal? Maybe this isn’t normal? Maybe we should rearrange our room because maybe he will sleep better in that corner? Maybe we should Google it?
And I’m not even kidding, folks. This is *actually* how our conversation went. Sleep deprivation has turned us into crazy people.
Now a good scientist would pick one question, run an experiment to test the variable, and draw a conclusion that addressed their hypothesis. A good scientist would read the research, and trust that our baby, just like every other baby out there, will eventually learn to sleep. A good scientist would be patient, knowing results take time.
My scientific credibilities are about on par with what Bill Murray brings to the table.
But a good scientist, I am not.
I am a very tired, very irrational, very moody, very tired regular person who is very tired, and very desperate to find any kind of help that will give me even the tiniest chunk of sleep. So if you’ll excuse me, I am off to rearrange my room, order the latest swaddle sack off Amazon, feed the baby for 15-20 minutes on each side, burp him, rock him, assess his temperature, possibly change a diaper, turn on an appropriate amount of white noise, and attempt to put him down approximately 5 minutes after he enters deep sleep, which should be evident by slow breathing and floppy limbs…unless of course I decide to go the whole “drowsy but awake” route.
Yeah. Wish me luck.
Image credits: Mother Gothel, Bill Murray, cover image
To The Superheroes Who Keep Standing When I Would Fall Down- Latest BLUNTMoms Piece
Our conversation starts normally, with particulars exchanged in moments squeezed between acknowledging, encouraging, and parenting our kids as they ping-pong around the room. Ages of children are offered, current employment statuses discussed, and of course comments about the weather are made because this is what adults talk about (right?).
And then a bomb is dropped: Her kid is sick. Like, really sick.
An instant weight falls upon my shoulders as I hear her talk openly about almost losing a child. A tightness in my heart, squeezing, squeezing, as she discusses an unknown future. I stumble with my words, an apology, a well wish, a heavy silence while my brain spins with horrible Hallmark-worthy phrases to offer up.
And all the while, she remains standing. Shoulders back, head up, strong as hell, she talks about what might come, and she is still standing.
This is an excerpt from my latest post up on BLUNTMoms. It’s both a tribute to the incredible strength found in the everyday woman, and a reminder that we all have the ability to access it when needed. Swing by and check it out if you find yourself in need of a pep talk.
Access the rest of the article here.
Greeting Cards For People Who Aren’t Baby People
Babies. Small, helpless, squishy, probably pooping. Upon laying eyes on a newborn, some people absolutely melt. They look past the weird shaped head, the peeling skin, the explosive farts and the projectile milk puke, and turn into puddles of love, cooing and baby-talking the afternoon away. But others? Well others don’t see past it, which I totally get, because let’s be honest, babies are weird.
Regardless of your reaction, upon learning of the arrival of yet another member of the human race, friends and family are often tasked with selecting the perfect card to congratulate the mother and father on successfully spawning. The isles of your local drug store are filled with flowery designs, in perfect pink and baby blue, bubbling with joyful wishes and sappy sentiments. This is all well and good if A) You like babies, or B) Have recently had a lobotomy.
But we all know this is bullshit.
There is nothing glamorous about new babies, or new parents. This isn’t to say there aren’t lovely things about your new life, but these lovely things are only lovely to the people who you share genes with. Never has this been more apparent than over the last two weeks when welcoming visitors into my dirty house, while wearing dirty pajamas, with dirty hair and leaky boobs.
In order to ease the burden of selecting a card that truly represents what you’d like to say, I have taken the liberty of creating a series of cards I feel would more accurately sum up the sentiments of our recent visitors.
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Days Like This
Oh sweet baby Jesus. I forgot how hard this is.
Anyone who has had a baby will be quick to tell you how hard it is in the beginning, but much like the pains of labor fade (and they do, trust me, you DO NOT remember how shitty that part is), you don’t actually remember how hard it is until you’re in the thick of it.
But I’m here now, and I’m going to tell you, it is hard.
Your body hurts in ways you didn’t even know it could. Your brain is absolute mush. You are more tired than you’ve ever been. And on top of it, you are basically trying to solve a human Rubik’s cube with a very loud alarm that tells you over and over you are doing it wrong.
Even if you’ve already done this before, it’s all new again. Everything is different. Things that worked for your other babies doesn’t work. Or you’ve just forgotten (damn you Moby for making me relearn how to do fabric origami with a 15 foot piece of cloth on no sleep!). Or maybe some things are even easier. But regardless, everything is different.
Well everything except one thing: This is hard.
But here’s the thing. Some days the hard will be too much, or at least it will feel like too much. Some days the tears will outnumber the smiles. Some days all you will do is sit in dirty pajamas and nurse, shush and rock your way from sunrise to sunset, while your messy house, greasy hair, and smelly breath taunt you.
Other days, though, you will get up and get out and feel alive again.
Now there’s no balance to these days, and it may feel like the scales are heavily tipped in the wrong direction. But eventually it will even out, and even further down the line, the scales will tip the other way.
So from one mama in the trenches to any one else out there, sitting in dirty pajamas dreaming of a shower, a cinnamon roll, and about 97 hours of consecutive sleep, I am here to remind you that we will get through this part, too.
And in the mean time, I will be available for Twitter chat or Facebook messenger tonight, and every night for the foreseeable future from the hours of 10:30pm to 1am, when I hand our newest Rubik’s cube over to his daddy with strict instructions to not wake me unless the house is on fire.
The Musings of a Madwoman at 3am
3am: Pssst. Psssst. PSSSSSST!
Me: Yeah? What? Why did you wake me up?
3am: Because I’m lonely. Turns out 1 isn’t the loneliest number.
Me: Boo hoo. I’m going back to bed.
3am: That’s hilarious. No you’re not.
Me: Yes I am. I’m the captain of this ship. I do yoga. I will yoga myself back to sleep.
3am: Well that’s just stupid. You’re terrible at yoga. And you’d be a terrible captain. Your crew would mutiny. You’d walk the plank. You can’t swim. You’d probably get eaten by a sea turtle.
Me: A sea turtle. Right. Goodnight.
3am: Your financial future is unstable.
Me: Well that’s just rude.
3am: And you have a bag of rotting mushroom liquefying in your vegetable drawer.
Me: Yes. Yes I do.
3am: Don’t you want to take care of that before the baby gets here?
Me: The mushrooms? Yes. It is a little embarrassing.
3am: No. Your future. You should figure out a way to solve all of your financial shortcomings before the baby gets here.
Me: But that’s in like, 10 days?
3am: Exactly. So let’s think. And just to be clear, by think I mean worry. Let’s just lay here and worry until my shift is over.
Me: I hate you with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.
3am: You should channel that fire into worry. There are so many things we can worry about! Like the rusty undercarriage of your car! And bills! And Donald Trump! And breastfeeding! And how fat your armpits are!
Me: My armpits are rather sizable. And The Donald is pretty concerning…
3am: Flint. Syria. Declining manatee populations. The number of fruit flies in your kitchen. Your inability to remember passwords. Your mother’s Christmas present that’s still sitting on the desk waiting to be mailed. Also your cat is so fat she looks like a baby panda who is about 12 hours away from a juvenile diabetes diagnosis.
Me: SHE’S ON A DIET.
3am: When was the last time you did the Macarena?
Me: The what?
3am: You know, that crazy song from the nineties… HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: The Macarena. Of course.
3am: I just ask because whenever I’m feeling down I sing it and it perks me right up. HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: I’m not down. I’m tired. And I hate that song.
3am: HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: Aren’t there other lyrics?
3am: HEEEEY Macarena! Aaah! HEEEEY Macarena! Aaah! HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: Oh look at the time, it’s almost 4! So much for worrying the night away.
3am: I was just playing. Everything will probably work out fine. Maybe. HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: Jesus. Stop that.
3am: Macarena Macarena Macarena…
Me: Go away.
3am: One last thing.
Me: If you say Macarena…
3am: Having a baby is going to suck. I mean have you thought about the logistics of this? The baby is so big! You are so small. Hahahaha, oh man, this is great. There’s no way this is going to work. Do you remember how miserable you were last time? 41 hours of labor. The time we spent together then sure was entertaining, you know, for me. You looked like you were drowning on dry land. Or like you were having an allergic reaction to shellfish, while simultaneously being possessed by the spirit of an angry breakdancer. I can’t wait to do it all again. And so soon! Oooh, I gotta jet. 4 is here. HEEEEY Macarena! Aaay!
Me: Wow.
4am: Oooh I love the Macarena! Also it smells like rotting mushrooms in here.
Hold Me, Don't Hold ME 
