To my parents: Okay, okay, I apologize. I get on my knees and beg forgiveness for 75-99% of my childhood. Please, just call off the curse. I have gotten a child just like me, and I want to make sure you know that I am truly contrite. And tired. And trying to figure out where we put the ear plugs we bought for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.
LO has lost his way, sleep-wise. Somehow, he got out of his sleep schedule, and he is a wired/tired/uninspired sleep deprived baby. I put him down for a nap, and he stares at me with pink-rimmed eyes of exhaustion and challenge. "You think I'm going to sleep, lady," he telegraphs with his eyes, "but just wait until you see what I have in store for you." He will sit quietly for long enough that I think he really will go to sleep, and as soon as I get myself started on doing something, the screaming begins. When I say screaming, I mean screaming. A newborn's cry is heart-rending, but it's nothing to LO's eardrum-piercing screeches of anger. I imagine the neighbors think we're boiling him in oil or trying to give him a bath.
Okay, I can roll with this. I'm a hip, modern, baby-book reading mom who's finally catching up on her sleep. Once the generalized complaints to the universe begin, I change tactics. Would LO prefer his swing? NO, HE WOULD NOT! How about a quick jaunt around the block in the baby bjorn? Only as long as you are willing to walk for the next 2.5 hours. The moment the feet stop moving, LO will wake up with a vengeance. Would LO like me to hold him? Yes and no. It will change from second to second, making it impossible to do anything other than hold LO for the entirety of nap time. (LO can go from smiling to screaming in 2.8 seconds. I believe that's a land speed record).
Last night, in another attempt to get him to sleep earlier in the evening in order to help re-regulate his sleeping habits, I lay down with LO on the futon in the office for 45 minutes. It was dark, quiet and snuggly--three things that my son really seems to enjoy when it comes time for sleep. Over and over during that aborted sleep session, LO's eyes drooped, his mouth went slack, and he...forced his eyes open again and remained 100% awake. The sandman was not going to beat my son. He was going to fight sleep with every fiber of his infant being.
I gave up. I brought the little one back out to the living room and remarked, "My goodness he's stubborn!" J looked at me for a moment. "Like you aren't?"
Hmm. Well. I had hoped it wasn't so noticeable anymore. Trust one's husband to detect major characteristics of one's personality. But really, I am SO much better than I used to be. I was the child who once famously told her mother, "You can make me go to my room. You can make me get in my bed. You can even make me close my eyes. But you CAN'T make me sleep!" What on earth were my parents like as children to be cursed with me?
Now, of course, the mad giggling you hear is the sound of LO's grandparents enjoying themselves hugely. This, of course, is just a small taste of what I am in for with LO. He hasn't even learned the word no, nor is he ambulatory. I can't imagine what will come next. (No, strike that. I can imagine. In fact, I know. I've lived through it once, on the other side. Oy vei. I'm going to need to buy stock in some headache medicine.)
So, I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize. Call off the curse, please! If not for me, then for J. Can you imagine the poor man having to live with two of me?