Tales from the Crib

I firmly believe that every baby comes with one big challenge, at the least. Some don’t like to eat, some love to cry. And some, like my dear Miss Dub, don’t like to sleep.

(Though thankfully that seems to be her only hurdle thus far, though I’m pretty sure being sassy and talking during class are inevitable.)

It’s not that surprising – I’d heard talk of sleep-deprived new mothers. I mean, the mere thought you’d wake up and do something in the middle of the night made me tired so I expected some initial fatigue. And I read all the books on how to turn a confused newborn into a sleeping genius so I felt forewarned. (And by all the books, I mean ALL the books.)

Babywise had me convinced that my child would be sleeping through the night by 12 weeks, if not sooner. Since 12 weeks sounded unreasonably long, I really focused on the sooner part. When I mentioned it to friends, some happily reported that their babies had starting sleeping through the night at 7 weeks. They were my heroes. Others told me theirs didn’t sleep for months; some still weren’t at one or two. Being the judgmental person I am, I instantly assumed the latter group was full of softy moms who jumped at the slightest cry. I didn’t think they were bad moms, just unwilling to make their own nocturnal destiny for the sake of some extra cuddles.

(Now, this isn’t an argument about Babywise and its respective virtues and vices. Save it for another Tuesday! Because I think that book has saved many a mom and offers some great nursing advice, though it is odd that Mr. Ezzo is not a doctor and never graduated from college. But if it helps one mom, that’s good enough for me!)

Well, all books aside – and I really did find “The Baby Whisperer” to be the best for me and the Miss – books are worthless. Good advice, good intentions, but a ton of pressure, work and promises that can’t always be fulfilled. (And I will kick Dr. Sears, Dr. Ferber and any other Dr. Sleepyhead in the crotch if they tell me I failed somehow.)

When I feel best as a mother, I’m just being me. I’m not obsessed with the clock. I’m not obsessed with Miss Dub. I’m just living my life and caring for Miss Dub while I do. Even if that means forsaking an occasional nap. Even if that means I let her stay up late when she’s clearly not ready to sleep, no matter what time it is. Even if that means I’m winging it, not scheduling it.

And even though I still don’t get any sleep, at least I’m not obsessed with sleep. Every night waking doesn’t signal failure. Every nap isn’t a test.

But, boy would I like to buy some Zzzz’s. (Illegal drugs and questionable Nigerian money-wiring included.)

Miss Dub is going on eight months and has slept through the night for one miraculous month only, several months ago. Naps are mostly dreamy – she goes down awake and wakes up giggly an hour or two later. Bedtime is mostly painless – she goes down awake BUT this is where it gets gnarly. (Pronounced ga-narly, according to Webster’s.)

Usually she wakes up once or twice for a nibble. Now, this is a girl who has been eating three hearty meals of baby food since five months. Who nurses quite frequently though her disinterest keeps her from really guzzling. And who has happily mastered a sippy cup of H20 in the last few weeks. But she’s still hungry enough for a full feed. And then it’s off to lala land, unless she wakes up and decides to play or babble or have another McMilky.

And while that’s not bad, I’m not very good at going to bed before 11 p.m. And I pretty much cannot nap, despite Mr. Dub’s continued threats. Since Miss Dub goes down around 7 or 8 p.m. she’s got a massive head start on me so she’s perky around 6 a.m., while I’m still lusting for some snoozing.

But some nights are even worse.

Last night, Miss Dub decided to scream from 1 to 3 a.m. Not my favorite way to spend those hours, by the way. I generally prefer to sleep and/or sleep at that time of night. So I was fairly frustrated – the words “shut up” may or may not have graced my mind, though I managed to mutter, “It’s OK, sweetie,” instead. Finally, Mr. Dub lured her to the crib with a favorite singing bunny and we headed back to bed. Until 6:30 a.m.

The point is – I have no idea what my point is. All I know is I’m sorry for judging mothers with children, who, heaven forbid, came to Earth with their own personalities. I mean, I’ve NEVER been someone who sleeps through the night. I always wake up several times a night, and I like it! It gives me some quiet thinking time. The only difference is I know how to put myself back to sleep quickly, while Miss Dub needs to cry or babble for a half hour before she’s tuckered out again. Yet, I expect her to sleep like a log for 10 hours.

I expect someone who’s never met her to tell me what’s wrong.

I expect me to know exactly what to do when I’ve never done this before.

I expect her to be perfect, but only if it’s my idea of perfect.

But I need to take all of my expectations and throw them out a window (preferably a very high one with a view). I need to let Miss Dub be Miss Dub. And I need to chill out.

Also, I need to sleep.

Any suggestions?

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SATURDAY

10 a.m. – Go to JoAnn Fabrics for what may be the second time in my entire life. Consider what a tragedy this is to most of my friends and quilting-crazed mother. Note that it’s a little cooler outside after a week of high temps … like 40. Think of how perfect that is considering I’m helping out with our church’s beach-themed social that night. (Especially since summer attire was a requirement.)

Noon – Eat a beef, spinach and bleu cheese corn quesadilla. Think about how all of you out there wincing are really missing out on something delicious. Wonder if blue or bleu is the preferred spelling for said cheese.

5:30 p.m. – Leave for the “Beach Party.” Decide to wear Uggs to the church and then change into flip-flops considering it’s starting to look chilly outside. While entering the car, pellet snow begins to fall causing Mr. Dub to lunge for Miss Dub’s carseat and pull down (or is put up?) the shade. Suddenly, the party seems ironic.

7 p.m. – Discover that Icee makes single-serving treats in all-natural flavors like blue raspberry and sour apple. So. Very. Delicious.

8:30 p.m. – Oversee a hula hoop contest, scuba gear relay and – yes – Macarena dance-off. (Only Mormons still own that single, I imagine.)

9 p.m. – Leave the party as Miss Dub is about to die from overstimulation. Go outside to find a good 3 inches of snow on the ground and more pounding down from the sky. (And it hurts!) Brave the slushy roads and manage to arrive home safely.

11 p.m. – Get a message from that church will be postponed an hour the next day. Rejoice temporarily until we remember that’s probably not the righteous response. Plus, Mr. Dub still has to give a talk.


SUNDAY

9:30 a.m. – Get an early start out the door, only to discover that our car has been plowed into its space. Do our darndest to get our loyal Civic up and over the snow mound, only to get stuck. Chase down the naughty plower man – “Hey lady, that’s how snow goes!” – and force him to dig our car out. Head to church in various states of dishevelment.

10:30 a.m. – Listen to Mr. Dub tell the congregation that we met while “speed-dating.” He informs the crowd that he copied all the answers off my compatibility questionnaire so that we would be a perfect match. Is that how we met? No. Is that the partial premise of a recent episode of “Psych”? Yes. Does he ‘fess up to his lyin’ ways? Thank goodness.

Noon – Leave church. Watch it start to snow … again.

3 p.m. – Read “The Baby Whisperer Solves All Your Problems” and decide it is my baby book du jour. Love the compassionate sleep-training, pacifier-weaning strategies.

7 p.m. – Resist eating a second slice of key lime pie. (Albeit a reduced-fat slice.)

9 p.m. – Put Miss Dub to bed using aforementioned methods.


MONDAY

4 a.m. – Listen to Miss Dub waking up for the first time since going to bed. Rejoice in the small success of 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep. (Hers, not mine. I didn’t hit the hay until 11 p.m. And, to be honest, it was a bed, not hay.)

5 a.m. – Finally get Miss Dub back to bed using the aforementioned methods. Still feel good about the book. Still cursing the pacifier. Seriously questioning whether I should have had a second slice of that pie.

8 a.m. - Weigh in and discover that I've now lost close to 20 pounds. Feel skinny, pat myself on the back, feel back fat, start to focus on the next 20 pounds.

9 a.m. – Try to come up with something decent to post. Settle on a lame timeline of weekend events. Wonder if anyone will even read it. Wonder if key lime pie is a nutritional breakfast choice.

10:47 a.m. – Press PUBLISH.