That's, like, 11 hours, kids!

Last night, I went to bed at 7:45 p.m.

I mean, when is the last time I did that - when I was four years old?

We've been re-struggling with Miss Dub, who has decided post-vacations and illnesses to wake up even earlier than her standard 6 a.m. awakening. Like, 4:30 a.m. To-tally awake! And ready to watch TV, as she's become quite the connoisseur thanks to her early awakenings. (I know, I'm a bad mom, but what else can I really do with her at that hour? Finger painting just seems complicated in the dark.)

To curb the fatigue that's come from such early risings - and to help heal a raging headache - I went to "lie down" for a little primetime snooze. Well, I didn't wake up again until 2, at which point I was WIDE AWAKE. Thankfully, I managed to fall in and out of sleep for several more hours ... until 6:45 a.m.

And guess what? Miss Dub managed to do it, too - I heard her rustle, talk and even cry a little, but she took one for the team and kept sleeping ... and on the one day I wouldn't have minded waking up at 4:30!

Needless to say, I'm going to bed a little later tonight. Like, 8:30 p.m.

But if she does wake up early tomorrow, any suggestions on the least annoying kids' show out there? 'Cause Backyardigans is the best I've found so far, though I find myself "stomping that Yeti stomp" in my head hours later.

And seriously, what's the most annoying show? I'm going to say Boobah. Pretty sure that one is based on a producer's acid trip.

Sleep Atkins

Last night, it took Miss Dub ONE HOUR of sad, pathetic, heartbreaking crying to fall asleep. 60 minutes, people. 3,600 seconds. Or in Mom Time, forever.

But I’m realizing that sleep training is a lot like weight loss.

When I was obese, the thought of losing so much weight was daunting. Giving up yummy treats and counting calories did not sound like fun. So I basically convinced myself that it was impossible to lose weight; that I was genetically wired to hold onto weight despite my best efforts. And while there was some truth to that in my case, the real culprit, of course, was that I lacked willpower. Nevertheless, I would try for a few days or a week and stop when I didn’t get dramatic results. I would whine and complain and say it was too hard. Everyone else had it easier, I reasoned. Losing weight just wasn’t as tough for them.

So I fixated on a magical alternative, some other way to lose weight that was easy, fast and painless. Thankfully, I didn’t get caught up in the web of Atkins and South Beach and cabbage soup because I’m so lazy and carb-addicted that even those sounded too intense. But I can see how women bounce from specialized diet to diet with yo-yoing weight in between all because the rudimentary concept of eating less and exercising more is just plain tedious.

Same goes for sleep training. I’d try and try with Miss Dub to get her to sleep, but never once let her truly cry it out after she was an infant. Once her cries began to resemble words – “Mom, why do you hate me?” – it was too much. I’d go a few minutes and cave. Rather than admit my weakness, I told myself crying it out was inhumane. That it worked for other people because their babies weren’t as smart or aware as my child. That Miss Dub was emotionally scarred by the behavior. So I fixated on other ways and other methods, but while those magically promised few tears, they also required a long list of specific behaviors to get results. And my lazy self never could follow all of them so sleeplessness prevailed.

Like weight loss, I eventually reached a breaking point. It eventually dawned on me that millions of people had done this. That while it was hard, it was possible. And if I stuck to it, there was no way I could fail. I just had to see it through.

Well, I’m now down 60 pounds and eating better is a habit so it seems easy, though I’ve definitely laxed in some areas and need to lose another 5 pounds and get toned before I claim victory. And, of course, I’ll always have to be vigilant because the slightest thing can set me off course since I’m an emotional eater.

Miss Dub isn’t close to the finish line, either, but I keep reminding myself that it’s out there. We made it through a whole day of sleep training and she didn’t die, though she did poop her pants. I didn’t cave. And even though I lost sleep, I feel more rested because I feel hope.

Still, it’s terribly hard, but I just keep reminding myself of those first few days of eating better. You’re so hungry that you think it’s inhumane. You’re so cranky that you think it’s impossible. You’re so annoyed that you don’t want to do it. But a few days later, you realize that you’re satisfied with less food and feel better in general. And it dawns on you that it’s not that hard; that you can get results if you stick with it.

So I’m sticking with it.

But it would be nice to know how long this took for all of you. (??)

(‘Cause I’m lazy like that.)

My so-called life

You don’t want to read this post.

I know, I said that yesterday and instead you got a bawdy bit on breasts.

Today I mean it.

Because I’m going to get honest. I’m going to open up. And I’m going to talk about something for the umpteenth time without even joking about where umpteen falls in the numerical system. (After a million? Before trillion?)

I’m going to say things that I should say on the phone to my mom or my best friend but don’t because I want them to think I’m a good mom instead of saying, “I’m about to give up.” Because I don’t want to be a whiner and say, “I’m on the verge of tears all the time and desperate for someone to fix my problem.” Because I don’t want to sound like a broken record and say, “Miss Dub is a terrible sleeper.” But she is.

I know, I know, you’ve all heard it. You’ve told me to let her cry it out. You’ve told me to have a positive attitude. You’ve told me everything you know. You’ve given me advice and some of you have even lectured me. So why am I still complaining about it?
Because it’s a really big deal to me.

Because last night she went to bed at 7:30, but I had to hold her stomach for 30 minutes to get her down because if I don’t restrain her she flips over, starts crawling, pulls herself up to standing and wants to play. So I have to firmly rub her stomach until she relaxes enough to drift off to sleep.

Then, she woke up at 12:30 crying and clinging to her crib, but I was able to nurse her to sleep. Not that I go straight for nursing. I’ve been tough. I’ve been firm. I’ve let her cry and tried to put her right to bed. Sometimes it works. Sometimes after 30 minutes, I get so frustrated, so tired and so agitated by her screaming that I have to do something to calm her so that I can calm myself. So I nursed her. Combined with some shh-ing and sweet nothings, it worked. A half hour later, I was sawing logs.

Then she woke up at 4:30 a.m. in such hysterics that she was nearly vomiting. It’s like she wakes up disoriented and no amount of soothing will help. I turned on the light. I read books. Mr. Dub stepped in. We turned on the TV. All of these are bad behaviors, I know, but we were desperate. At 6, she went back to sleep – for 45 minutes – when she woke up giggling for the day.

And I woke up tired, but forced some smiles because she is so dang cute.

This kind of thing happens every night, people, and it’s getting worse. Besides one sweet month when she slept through the night, she’s always woken up. It used to be 4-5 times a night, but for short bits of nursing or resettling or a little fussing. Now, she regularly is up screaming for 1-3 hours. And I’m so unbelievable distraught about it, I don’t know what to do.

In the middle of the night, I’m mad at her. I just want her to stop crying. I just want her to go to sleep like other babies. I want her to respond to all of the efforts I’m making, all the research I’ve done, all the prayers I’ve offered, all the patience I’m mustering to pretend I’m not upset.

When the moment passes, I realize I’m crazy. She’s a baby. Any problems she’s having are because I’ve accidentally given her bad habits or failed to teach her how to sleep. But I honestly feel like I’ve tried. When she was younger, I let her cry it out all the time. She was never nursed to sleep before naptime or bedtime. She fussed herself to sleep as a newborn and talked herself to sleep as a young baby. But she still woke up in the middle of the night. And she was still inconsolable.

When she learned to flip onto her stomach, things got worse. Even if she’s tired, as soon as she flips onto her stomach, she thinks it’s play time, even though she sleeps best on her stomach. Now that she can pull herself up to standing it is even worse.

I don’t know what to do. Do I let her cry it out when she’s clinging to the side of her crib and doesn’t know how to get down short of falling? Do I let her scream so hard she pukes? Do I let her wake up the entire apartment building night after night?

Is she hungry? Is she hot? Is she cold? Is she just capable of getting less sleep than the average baby? Is something wrong?

And to be honest, I don’t want to let her cry it out. That was fine when her decibel level was lower, but the gut-wrenching, ear-piercing screaming until she is heaving is too much for me. There has to be another way. There has to be more than one way to teach a child to sleep. (And seriously, I’m not 100 percent clear on how making her scream herself to exhaustion gives her the skills to put herself to sleep night after night.)

I’m a softie. I know. Because I love her. Like, I really, really loOove her because for some reason I’m capable of really intensified emotions, which makes my frustration even more extreme.

And I am so frustrated. I’m so tired. I’m so fatigued after nearly 9 months of no sleep. I can barely function, and I highly doubt I should be driving a car. As a result, my whole life has suffered. Not that I really had one, but my efforts to get out, do more and make more friends have been hampered by sheer exhaustion. I’m too tired to do much, but I’m also lonely and in need of a distraction.

There are other factors in my depression – I wish we lived closer to family. I wish we could afford a home. I wish we didn’t have only one car, which requires me to drive up to 1 hour to take Mr. D to work 4.8 miles away. I wish that taking him didn’t totally disrupt Miss Dub’s nap schedule, which is one thing she is good about, even if it takes some occasional wrangling to get her to sleep. I wish someone would teach me how to teach her to sleep. I wish I could catch up on sleep.

And to top it all off, I’ve been watching the World Series of Pop Culture on VH1 and am disgusted by my play-along performance. My once stellar pop culture knowledge has dwindled to the occasional “Eight is Enough” random reference. (Nicholas Bradford.) I’m just not up on current pop culture.

And you know what? I’m too tired to care.

And that’s the scariest part.

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?

Pillow talk

Something is really wrong with this picture.

(No, no that one, I'm talking figuratively.)

It’s 6:15 in the morning, and I’m up.

But Miss Dub is still sleeping.

FYE (For Your Edification) – In the last two weeks, Miss Dub has gone from waking up several times each night between 10 p.m. and 7 a.m. to an occasional waking between 7:30 p.m. and 7 a.m. I credit the Baby Whisperer. I credit pacifier detox. I credit my sweet lil’ Miss for growing up and realizing like the rest of us that sleep is freakin’ fabulous!

But now I need someone to train me to sleep; to teach me to soothe myself back to sleep when I awake in the night … which I still do, several times.

To my credit ... (or is it to her credit? Your credit? Credit or debit?) … I’ve never been a sound sleeper. I’ve always woken up throughout the night, usually to look at the clock or go to the bathroom or to just think about what I’m going to wear the next day. When one is getting 8 hours or more at night, I think this is fabulous. I mean, if you went to bed and slept all the way through the night, how would you know you were getting so much sleep? You would wake up and have no clue how long you slept. It’s better to wake up and chronicle the indulgent experience, right?

You might be starting to scratch your head. Mr. Dub does every time I whip out this theory from My Book of Wacked-Out Personal Beliefs. He thinks I’m crazy. I think I’m savvy. But, hey, we like the same shows so I don’t think this will break us.

But I digress, as usual. (Although I don’t know if it is a digression since it’s my normal progression, but I don’t want to get all parapsychological on y’alls.)

Now that I’ve been getting 5-7 hours of sleep a night – sometimes as little as FOUR in the beginning – I do want to sleep through the night. I don’t want to be woken up unless Miss Dub needs something, like an off-key singing of “Landslide.” (FYE: Mrs. Jay loves Stevie Nicks.)

So waking up unnecessarily is a horrible way to start my day, although I do get to hear Miss Dub playing with her stuffed friends in her crib. And it is a beautiful, sunny, warm (49!) day. And time is going to change earlier this year, which is sheer GENUIS on the part of our government. And I did get to blog so …

I’m really happy that it’s 6:15 and I’m awake, even if Miss Dub is still sleeping/talking politics with a pink hippo.

And in closing, here’s a random thought: Do you think the writers on “Lost” think they’re giving us more information than they really are? Because my dear friend Kristin is always talking about how “so much” is going to be revealed in each episode until the end of this season. And how “so many” questions are going to be answered. Yet, I watched Wednesday’s night episode last night (thank you DVR!) and found no answers, no resolution and “so many” new questions.

Am I missing something?