I'm probably going to regret writing this as soon as tomorrow. Because it's about to get ugly. I'm fixin' to start screaming and stomping my feet into the Interweb for anyone who cares to listen.
I swear this is not just another post where I whine about being sleep deprived. But really it is. Why did I just lie to you people? Probably because I'm surly and sleep deprived and have nowhere else to turn.
So, I guess when you take a baby who's just 5 months old across 8 time zones, something wonky happens to their night time bio-rhythms. Emmet is now sleeping thirty minutes – THIRTY MINUTES – at a time. Nearly All night. Well somewhere around 3 AM he figures it out and sleeps for a few hours at a time. So, I've slept at most 2 hours in a row in over a week. And my nightly sleep totals have ranged from 0 – 4 hours. Even writing this down and knowing it to be true seems impossible.
I could stand it if he would get up 2-3 times a night. He's my last baby and I love those quiet tender late night moments nursing him. Well, “love” might be strong, but I can get that they're special. But waking 8-10 times a night is a new circle of hell.
I can barely lift my head in the morning but I have to get up and face Caleb who has already started jumping on my bed demanding attention and a playmate after his long night of peaceful slumber. I momentarily hate him for that. I look angrily at my now slumbering baby as I get up and grumpily pour myself coffee and curse my husband for being slightly less miserable than myself.
I somehow manage the day. Because I'm starved for adult interaction, I even hold it together enough to talk to other adults. They'd never know my condition, unless they look carefully and see my hands are shaking. At some point in the day I'll sob. When I close my eyes for a moment, I begin the hallucinate, a stockpile of dreams pushing to escape my mind. This is my new normal.
The nights are agony. I can't hope this night will be better because the disappointment will be crushing. I can't expect it will be the same because that prospect reduces me to tears. So, I just steel myself to endure what comes my way.
But my reserves are gone. At some point I'll sob into my pillow or threaten to check myself into a hotel. Colin will help as much as he can, but nursing works quicker and better than anything he can do. He comforts me when I fall apart telling me logically to take heart and that it's sure to get better.
I nod my head like an admonished child as my hysterical sobs slow to deep breaths. But under this acquiescence somewhere inside me that's still going crazy I think: “F*%K YOU you mammary-less mother f#@*&er. YOU wake up every 30 minutes to nurse him back to sleep and then just as you drift off hear him cry again. Then repeat this the whole mother f*%$ing night”.
My inner crazy is unsympathetic and has a cursing problem.
I need another lactating mom to spell me for just one night. Any takers?
*Before you say it, Emmet won't take a bottle, and Colin does try to calm him when he can. We might let him cry (though that's almost more painful for me than the sleep dep) but I fear the neighbors would start knocking on my door wondering in what way we are abusing the mtoto (baby). So.... we'll wait it out.
** My secret hope is that Murphy's Law of the Internet will kick in and as soon as publicly make a big deal out of this it will cease being an issue. So, I'll be forced to sheepishly deflect all your sympathy and advice since Emmet's sleep improved on its own. I'll take that too!