24 posts tagged “sleep”

Overheard tonight from The Boy's bedroom:

"No, don't take Tommy Bear's shirt off.... Socks? Tommy Bear needs socks? Okay, let's find some socks for him.... There. Now he has socks.... What?... Tommy Bear has socks.... Oh, Cow needs socks? Okay..."

This continued on for a while. It ended with my husband telling him that he had no more socks, that Mommy needed to wash them.

And then I was summoned.

"Mo more sock!" he informed me.

I went into the closet and found socks he had since outgrown, then dutifully put them on his Yo Gabba Gabba! friends. Once he was certain everyone's feet would be sufficiently warm, he decided that his footed sleeper wasn't adequate and wanted, not just socks, but entirely different pajamas to wear to bed.

Then Tommy Bear needed a new shirt. He can't have a new shirt? Well, then he needs shoes. He can't wear shoes? Well, then can I wear shoes? If I can't wear shoes, then Mama has to hold me.

I'm not certan how I managed it, but I finally got him to lie down in his crib. I tucked him in, whispered my "good nights", and hurriedly left the room, leaving the door open (because God forbid we should close the door and do anything without him). He called out for me once more (I did not respond), then was silent. He's now been asleep fr about 20 minutes.

In the meantime, he does have clean socks, just removed from the dryer before I sat down to write. But if we're now going to clothe all of his toys, I may need to stock up on more.

I haven't slept well the past two nights. Getting to sleep is fine (once I actually crawl into bed), but I've been rather rudely awakened.

Sunday morning, my cell phone rang at around 4:15. It was an unlisted number, and, since I didn't get to the phone in time to actually answer it, I have no idea who called. This would only be a nuisance, except that Sunday would have been my parents' 40th wedding anniversary and marked one year since I last spoke with my mother. So, as you might imagine, the memory of how I learned of her passing, already weighing heavy on my mind, was far too vivid. And I broke down and wept. Just as I fell back to sleep almost an hour later, though, The Boy awoke, and sleep was only a fleeting notion after that.

This morning, The Boy awoke just after 3. I went into his room, gave him Tylenol for his teething, offered some water, and watched him pop his pacifier back into his mouth, thinking that he would simply lie down and go back to sleep. Alas, he tried instead to vault himself out of his crib and insisted on my carrying him out of his room and into our bedroom when that proved futile. Around 4, he finally fell back to sleep, but he awoke again when my husband got up to take a shower. I insisted that he put his head down and rest with me for a little longer, which he did, until he decided he was done with that and slapped me several times before head-butting me.

I now have a beautiful fat lip, courtesy of The Boy.

I certainly hope tomorrow morning will bring a better start to the day.

Sometimes it begins as a tiny whimper before escalating into frantic cries. Sometimes, it's just an immediate loud shriek that signifies a major problem.

The former cries are usually easily remedied. It may just be a bad dream, and he just needs some comforting. Sometimes it's a wet diaper that can be quickly changed without much effort on my part or fuss on his.

But the loud screams are the ones that makes me worry. It usually takes longer to calm him, and it almost always means something bad has happened. ("Bad" is defined as anything from pee-soaked pajamas to a poopy diaper to a high fever, or anything inbetween.)

Tonight, he's waking, shrieking in pain because of the pending arrival of his 2-year molars. I rushed into room to find him sitting up, giant tears rolling down his cheeks, his fingers shoved into his mouth, only slightly muffling his cries. I offered him some Tylenol, which he uncharacteristically refused (this kid likes the medicine dropper; I'm not sure why) after chucking his pacifier at the door behind me. I managed to get a small dose in his mouth (most of which he spat out), then returned his pacifier. He popped it into his mouth and quieted down, falling asleep while still sitting upright. Every now and then, he would sway and wake with a start, only to repeat the process.

I managed to successfully get him to sleep, but he awoke just a few minutes later, his teeth still hurting him, the medicine not quite working just yet. He started moving around his crib, angry that a toy car (which he clutched so desperately when he went into his crib) was sharing his space, upset that Kermit's long arms were in his way, agitated that Muno's unblinking eye kept staring at him. I quickly removed everything from his crib save Tommy Bear, whose leg he clutched with one hand while holding the railing with the other.

Nights like these, sleep deprived though I am, make it difficult for me to sleep soundly. It's hard to let myself fall into a deep slumber knowing that my not-so-little baby is suffering so horribly. There is nothing more heart wrenching, I think, than hearing his screams of agony and seeing him clutch his mouth in a vain attempt to ease the pain. And yet, I also know I have to sleep in order to properly function and see to his needs.

He's been asleep now for the better part of a half hour, and I can only hope he sleeps until morning. We have to get his hair cut tomorrow (Chris is in desperate need of one, and The Boy could use one, too). I don't think we'll spend the day at the Magic Kingdom, but it's always so much more pleasant when he's well rested - and consequently well-behaved.

Thus sayeth The Boy (I think - stuff gets lost in translation, you know).

I hear him in his room, clicking on the buttons of the musical toy in his crib, the base of his mobile long after the circling jungle animals were removed from his far-reaching grasp.

He pauses every now and then to cry out, letting everyone near and far know that he does not want to be in his room, and certainly not in his crib - and that he is certainly not tired. Never mind that he has been rubbing his eyes and is increasingly all around cranky. No, this child does not want to sleep, and all should know what torture I, as his mother, am making him endure by removing him to a quiet, darkened room, for what he clearly does not need or want: rest.

The cries don't last long; they're the cries of a sleepy little boy who continues to insist that he's not at all tired. They're short in duration, stopping for a few minutes before resuming, each time getting a bit quieter.

Eventually, he'll cry himself to sleep. Right now, though, he's strongly protesting the notion that he needs to rest in the middle of the morning.

(Now I can hear him blowing raspberries, something else to keep him awake. This is a new tactic.)

One day, God willing, the tables will turn and he will tell me that I need to slow down, take it easy, maybe rest. I only hope I'm still keen enough to remind him of days like these, days when I have to struggle to get him to sleep for just a few blessed minutes.

What's this? There's silence from the nursery?

Could it be that Mommy does know what she's talking about?

Nah... He must have just changed his mind.

As I type, I'm running the first of many month-end reports. I was sent home yesterday because my boss thought I looked too sick to be at work, so I (obviously) didn't get a chance to do any of my work. Blech. The plus side is that I got a good nap in yesterday, which I definitely needed given that somebody (who will go unnamed) decided he didn't want to go to sleep last night. I'm not sure when he woke up, but after a little bit of nursing, four ounces of corn, a few sips of milk, and a few hours, I finally got him asleep in his own bed (with my sweatshirt) around 1AM.

And then he woke up at 4:30. That was just as well, to be honest, because I needed to get to work early and push out all the things I needed to have done last night. But I really would have liked another hour or two of sleep.

So, we'll give it another go today.

I asked Chris to bring The Boy to school today so that I could get to work extra early. I left the house just as The Boy was finishing breakfast and about to be changed out of his pajamas.

The worst thing, though, is that I'm still not feeling right. As I type, I can hear my stomach turning, and it's not a great sound (or feeling). The vomiting has stopped (thank GAWD), but then there's the nasty business of that other part which, though much preferable to vomiting, is just plain awful.

Last night was not a good night for sleep. Oh, I was tired enough, and I wanted to sleep, but my subconscious is clearly working overtime and does not want me to sleep.

I had a terrible nightmare last night, one that prompted me to call my sister no fewer than three times this morning. Why? I wanted to make sure she was okay and in good health. In my nightmare, I got a call from my brother-in-law who told me that my sister had a massive heart attack and died. Two thoughts raced through my mind as I was dealing with the shock and the disbelief: (1) my father is going to be so sad, and (2) my sister's the one who's supposed to outlive me. The first thought requires no explanation, but the second...

My sister is much healthier than I am. She exercises, eats well, and is fit. She takes very good care of herself. I, on the other hand, am the walking definition of "skinny fat" - the type of person who looks slim but whose percent body fat is higher than it ought to be. I fully expect my sister to live longer than I will, which is why I've given her all sorts of responsibilities in my will and trust (neither of which are finished, but I'm still working on them).

Anyway, this nightmare was just awful. Mercifully, I woke from it, but I was obviously still shaken. This explains why I called my sister three times to make sure she was okay. It was awful.

Another weird dream I had involved my friend Bekki. I dreamt I was talking to her on the phone about something (what I don't recall), and in the background I heard a baby crying. In my dream, Bekki said, "Oh, I have to go take care of the baby. He's crying again."

Normally, this wouldn't be so odd, except that Bekki doesn't really plan on having kids. She's enjoying motherhood vicariously through me (without the sleep deprivation, I might add). It took a second before I realized that the baby I heard crying was really The Boy, and I didn't hear it through a phone; I heard it through his door.

I know dream-sleep is important, and that's the kind of sleep you need most to let your body's cells regenerate. But tonight, I wouldn't mind sleeping without dreams. At least then I might sleep peacefully.

Normally, I have a hot chocolate in the mornings with just a splash of coffee. It's enough caffeine to keep me going until about 4, and by then, a simple walk around the office is enough to perk me up again. But today...

Baby C is teething. And, for some weird reason, this round seems much worse than the other rounds. (It may be because I've had a couple of months reprieve from the teething monster.) Not only that, but he's peeing a lot, which means lots of wet diapers and subsequent diaper changes. Oh, and he's also congested with a very runny nose. (I'm giving him lots of extra water because of the congestion, which explains why there's a lot of pee. I'm paranoid when it comes to dehydration.)

Anyway, last week, he sort of readjusted to the West Coast/East Coast time change. He never really adjusted to West Coast time, so I don't think it was too difficult of a transition back. However, this weekend was a doozy. Which explains why I'm dragging so heavily today.

Yesterday, Chris took my niece's Flat Stanley to Disney World - to all four parks. He and Flat Stanley had a blast, I'm sure. Meanwhile, I stayed home with the boy, who would instantaneously flip between giggling, delightful Happy Baby to screaming Cranky Baby. I'm sure you can guess which version I prefered. Anyway, by the time Chris got home, I was starving (the Boy, however, was not, as he had consumed copious amounts of food, as is his norm), exhausted from chasing after him while simultaneously attempting (operative word there) to clean the house, and very close to the proverbial edge. So, once Chris came home and I had a chance to eat half of a very long baguette, I eagerly left my husband with Happy Baby (who waved good-bye to me - only the second time I've seen him wave to anyone) and ran my errands.

Chris was exhausted last night from traversing all of Disney World, and because he was sore, I offered him some Advil PM to help him sleep. Baby C was Cranky Baby when bedtime rolled around, but he ultimately went to sleep and allowed me a few moments to resume my attempts (operative word again) at cleaning the house. Except that he woke up every hour and a half for one reason or another. First, I think it was his teeth. Then he needed a diaper change. Then he wanted to nurse. I didn't go to bed until midnight, wasn't asleep until 12:30, and was awakened just 15 minutes later. Which meant I didn't fall back asleep until almost 1:30. Thankfully, that was the last awakening of the night.

At 6:30 this morning (which, pre-time change, was really 5:30), as Chris was getting ready for work, I heard a familiar cry. It wasn't a real cry, more of a "Oh, it's morning and I so wish I didn't have to wake up but as I'm awake you might as well wake up, too" cry. The same kind of cry I do when I hear this cry, only much more vocal. (My cry is a very internal cry, and not nearly as effective in waking others around me.) I pulled the covers over my head and asked Chris to look after him for a few minutes, just long enough to let me use the bathroom and get dressed.

And I've been up ever since.

I really shouldn't complain. After all, I got five uninterrupted hours of sleep. There used to be a time when I would have sold my left kidney for that.

Baby C has been asleep in his crib now for more than 2 hours.

Yes, he's still breathing.

I'm currently uploading pictures to my favorite site so that I can share them with our families (my parents are in the Philippines right now and really would like to see some pictures of him soon), and as I type, I am listening intently for any sound coming from the baby's room.

The fact that he has been sleeping this long in his crib without anyone in his room is a small miracle in itself. But, as I've been reading all sorts of articles and books on babies and sleep, I know that when the baby is ready to sleep on his own, he will do it. He first needs to trust me to know that I (or Chris) will come to his rescue if he needs something, and only when that trust is established will he be okay sleeping through the night.

I, in turn, need to trust that he will eventually sleep through the night.

So, I've got one more set of pictures to upload and then I'm calling it a night. And, hopefully, he'll stay down for another, oh, six or seven hours or so.

Here's hoping, anyway!

So, Baby C figured out how to roll from back to front on Friday. He had come close for some time but never quite made the full flip.

Which means he can roll now.

[sigh]

Anyway, I put him down in his crib a few minutes ago for nap time. He gets a regular nap time at school every day, and I try to put him down a few times during the weekend to give him some nap time. (He rarely takes naps at home.)

His nursery is right next to the office, so I can hear when the mobile stops and when the baby makes noise.

So, when I heard this awful cry of frustration, I rushed into his room to see what he was doing.

He managed to roll himself into a corner and couldn't figure out how to escape from it.

Crazy kid!

This morning, Baby C is not a happy baby. He's sleepy, hungry, and congested, which is not a good combination. Any attempts to alleviate some congestion (namely, the giant green bulb aspirator) have been met with screams of terror. Any attempts to alleviate the hunger are futile, as he detaches fairly quickly with a cry of frustration that seems to say, "Mom, I can't breathe!" And all this means sleep is a far, distant dream.

For both of us.