Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Some thoughts in my head when I inexplicably couldn’t sleep

“Sleep when the baby sleeps” is the most full of crap piece of advice ever.  Sometimes I do it…especially if there’s a blissful 8am nap.  That’s the best nap because everyone can just pretend it’s still night or that we’re in our early 20’s and still slept past 7am. 

Sometimes, though, I want to LIVE MY LIIIIIIIIIFE!  You cannot take my FREEEEEDOOOOMMM, Booberry!  So basically there’s this thing called “Four Month Sleep Regression” that should be called, “OH MEEE GAWWWD WHY?!  MY CHILD USED TO SLEEP SO WELL AND NOW NEVER SLEEPS UNLESS I HOLD HER NEXT TO MY BOOOOOOOOOOOB.”  It’s the worst.  We (Booberry and I…the Doctor tries to stay out of the way also known as does not help (but we love you)) are working on some good sleep habits.  There are infinite books on the subject and I have two on hold at the library because I already spend too much money buying baby crap on Amazon Prime (oh I have to go update my subscribe and save brb).

“Good sleep habits” according to parenting experts (summarized by the internet and a friend of mine who read all the books thus making it so maybe I don’t have to) include:

-          Not nursing the baby to bed
-          Having the baby fall asleep on her own after putting her down while drowsy but not asleep
-          Putting the baby to bed in her own bed as opposed to the stroller or swing or car seat or other baby shortcut device
-          Don’t swaddle once they can roll

These are basically tips of everything I don’t do:

-          She only falls asleep directly after nursing
-          If I put her down she wakes up and starts blowing raspberries at me
-          She only falls asleep out of my arms if she’s in a baby shortcut device
-          She punches herself in the face and wakes up if I don’t swaddle at least her right arm

So, basically, we just struggle until I put her in the swing and it creaks from the effort of rocking my giant baby (the manual says 25 lb limit but the internet said the swing craps out at around 16lbs.  Guess my daughter’s weight??!) and then when she’s deeply unconscious I can get her out of the swing and she stirs and then falls back asleep as soon as she’s in the bed with a pacifier. 

This is when I should sleep.

But sometimes I don’t wanna.

Because I want to hang out with the Doctor.  Or blog.  Or clean (hahah yeah right…omg I need to change the laundry brb).

Here’s what just happened LIVE: I had to get hangers for the laundry so I had to walk by the baby room.  The hardwoods are incessantly creaky so I had to tip toe around the creaky bits like they were landmines.  Then I just sprinted the last stretch and got the hangers and then repeated the process to get back down and once I got to the laundry room I realized I forget the baby monitor so I went and got it and then took one article of clothing out of the dryer and Booberry woke up and started in on her “cough cry” which earned the nickname “Her Ladyship” as in “Ahem.  I demand assistance in the most polite way.  Ahemmmm!” and now I’m hoping she can put herself back to sleep because that’s what the sleep people say to do oh NOPE there’s she goes into a real cry brb. 

45 mins in her crib is her new record.  I’ll take it. 

I have officially and definitively defined (is that redundant?) unconditional love.

Oh the laundry I forgot brb.

Ohhhhhh kaaaay back.  Unconditional love:

“If my daughter was a sociopath and murdered my husband I would still love her.  If my husband was a sociopath and murdered my daughter, I would no longer love him.”

The Doctor agrees with my definition and is not at all offended.  This is why I love him…but apparently there are limits to my love and he is okay with those parameters. 

What was this post about?  Oh yeah…not sleeping. The other night when I wasn’t sleeping and the Doctor was keeping me up with his snoring, I wrote down some notes about thoughts in my head at that moment.  Sometimes when I write things down at night they make little to no sense when I get up.  Something I wrote down the other night is: “old man little boy nuke.”  And I had NO IDEA wtf that was supposed to mean until I remembered that the snoring made me think that my husband is an old man and that many other things he does makes me think he’s a little boy and then I was wondering if those were the names of the nuclear weapons but I looked it up and it’s “Fat Man and Little Boy” which does not apply.  But yeah, husbands can be simultaneously old men and little boys.  I made a t-chart:

Old Man
Little Boy
Has zombie nightmares and wants to cuddle
Wears polo shirts
Wears star wars tshits under polo shirt
Mows the lawn
Sings jibberish loudly while mowing the lawn
Has a job
Bought video game controllers to take to work
Likes to drink whiskey (“like a man” he says)
Eats mostly pepperoni pizza from Little Caesars
Is awesome dad
Because he is a child at heart

I love T-charts.

The other note I put down is “hardly ever cries.”  That refers to me.  While preggo, as you may be aware from a previous post, just about everything made me weep uncontrollably.  One time I cried, hard, for three hours…I must have had colic.  I don’t remember now what it was so clearly it wasn’t a life-changing tragedy.  And now I was noticing that I couldn’t remember the last time I cried from being upset.  Sometimes I cry because Booberry is being sweet and little and snuggly and that’s more of a bittersweet cry.  But, when I wrote the note, I noticed how, once we got over the hump of newborn HORRIBLEness, my mood has stabilized and I’m generally a pretty happy person.  Isn’t that nice?!

Of course, two hours later, Booberry was still awake and fussing and I broke down into exhausted weeping and the Doctor went and slept in the guest room and I nursed Boo until she was unconscious and then put down sound asleep.  And then I went to sleep for three hours until she woke up again. 

But it’s the little victories…

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