I put her in the hip carrier and ignored her til she passed out. This did not make her happy, but it did get her to sleep, without making her feel abandoned.
But my heart is still breaking - or broken.
I should be doing better than this.
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Guilt and More Guilt
It's 10:30 pm. Trying and failing to get her to bed for more than two hours. (Dh is working).
Lost my cool. Cried in front of my kids. Freaked one out, amused the other (guess which was which?).
Can't. do. it.
At least not today.
Does that make me ungrateful?
Am I the only one plagued with guilt about not being grateful enough every time I'm (beyond) frustrated with my daughter? Guilty because I should love her without limits (which would look like not getting frustrated). Guilty because this is what I wanted for so long (and I should love every minute of it). Guilty because she's already had a hard enough life (and she shouldn't have a crazy mother). Guilty because I don't remember being this frustrated with my son (but this doesn't mean I wasn't - though in truth, she is objectively more of a button-pusher than he is, for good reasons, I'm sure). Guilty because families are still waiting for their children, and would give anything to be in my position (they think).
Guiltier because prior to the last eight weeks, my son honestly believed I could do anything. Now he knows that I can't, and it scares him.
Guiltiest because I'm sure her first mother would have done anything just for the chance to be frustrated with her, if only for just one long night, two hours past what is ultimately an arbitrary bedtime anyway.
Damn the attachment people for making me feel like only a bad mother would let a toddler cry it out.
Just once.
Lost my cool. Cried in front of my kids. Freaked one out, amused the other (guess which was which?).
Can't. do. it.
At least not today.
Does that make me ungrateful?
Am I the only one plagued with guilt about not being grateful enough every time I'm (beyond) frustrated with my daughter? Guilty because I should love her without limits (which would look like not getting frustrated). Guilty because this is what I wanted for so long (and I should love every minute of it). Guilty because she's already had a hard enough life (and she shouldn't have a crazy mother). Guilty because I don't remember being this frustrated with my son (but this doesn't mean I wasn't - though in truth, she is objectively more of a button-pusher than he is, for good reasons, I'm sure). Guilty because families are still waiting for their children, and would give anything to be in my position (they think).
Guiltier because prior to the last eight weeks, my son honestly believed I could do anything. Now he knows that I can't, and it scares him.
Guiltiest because I'm sure her first mother would have done anything just for the chance to be frustrated with her, if only for just one long night, two hours past what is ultimately an arbitrary bedtime anyway.
Damn the attachment people for making me feel like only a bad mother would let a toddler cry it out.
Just once.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Many Things
I don't have enough time to organize this post, but here's what's going on at Chez Bloom:
Miss I. slept through the night last night, awoke with the sunniest disposition, and was a joy for most of the day. She also napped for two hours, which gave me
Playtime with ds. We played the March of the Penguins-inspired board game he invented himself months ago. Journey to the ocean and back. Tomorrow we are going on a date - alone - to see Monster House. Reviews are great, though anyone with a child under five considers it frightening. Those with kids over five said the ending is satisfying and resolves those fears it generated. Words like archetypes and catharsis have been used
so I sent dh to the movies by himself tonight to preview it. He hated to sacrifice our time together, since it takes a lot of work to make that time (I work a ft job in pt hours - so guess which hours I try to cram it into?) but I really think he needed a date with himself, too. That fact is easy to overlook when I've been home all day with the kids and am ready to hand at least one over when he gets home. I should be using this time productively, to buy us another evening later
but I'm blogging and ruminating and thinking less seriously about what we will wear for family pictures tomorrow. In eighth grade we "pictured" our future lives in a collage. Mine included a career as writer and artist, a gazebo, a springer spaniel, and a curly-haired daughter (why I would ever have imagined that, considering my straight hair, I don't know) and son in a sailor suit. Dh always insisted "No sailor suits," long before the arrival of our actual children. But my mom got us great outfits for ds and I., navy and white stripes, and I'm struck by the similarity of my life to that picture - yes, of course, and more importantly, by the wonderful differences I could never have anticipated at 13. (Miss I.'s alone picture will be in a Chanel-inspired pink dress with black and white accents.)
and finally, in the most personally revealing post I've ever written (don't read if easily disgusted): I have ring worm on my arm and I can't get it off. I contracted it from my daughter's scalp. After failed attempts at topical treatment, we are both on oral medications for a long time.
And now I understand those tantrums: the humidity makes it a thousand times itchier. You know how when you have a blister you can think of nothing but your foot? This is worse. It makes you hateful, makes you plan dramatic ways of removing it or removing the arm.
The good news is, the oral meds have 100% cure rate - just doesn't say after how long.
Hope it doesn't show up in the family picture.
Because I have to tell you, that wasn't in my collage.
Miss I. slept through the night last night, awoke with the sunniest disposition, and was a joy for most of the day. She also napped for two hours, which gave me
Playtime with ds. We played the March of the Penguins-inspired board game he invented himself months ago. Journey to the ocean and back. Tomorrow we are going on a date - alone - to see Monster House. Reviews are great, though anyone with a child under five considers it frightening. Those with kids over five said the ending is satisfying and resolves those fears it generated. Words like archetypes and catharsis have been used
so I sent dh to the movies by himself tonight to preview it. He hated to sacrifice our time together, since it takes a lot of work to make that time (I work a ft job in pt hours - so guess which hours I try to cram it into?) but I really think he needed a date with himself, too. That fact is easy to overlook when I've been home all day with the kids and am ready to hand at least one over when he gets home. I should be using this time productively, to buy us another evening later
but I'm blogging and ruminating and thinking less seriously about what we will wear for family pictures tomorrow. In eighth grade we "pictured" our future lives in a collage. Mine included a career as writer and artist, a gazebo, a springer spaniel, and a curly-haired daughter (why I would ever have imagined that, considering my straight hair, I don't know) and son in a sailor suit. Dh always insisted "No sailor suits," long before the arrival of our actual children. But my mom got us great outfits for ds and I., navy and white stripes, and I'm struck by the similarity of my life to that picture - yes, of course, and more importantly, by the wonderful differences I could never have anticipated at 13. (Miss I.'s alone picture will be in a Chanel-inspired pink dress with black and white accents.)
and finally, in the most personally revealing post I've ever written (don't read if easily disgusted): I have ring worm on my arm and I can't get it off. I contracted it from my daughter's scalp. After failed attempts at topical treatment, we are both on oral medications for a long time.
And now I understand those tantrums: the humidity makes it a thousand times itchier. You know how when you have a blister you can think of nothing but your foot? This is worse. It makes you hateful, makes you plan dramatic ways of removing it or removing the arm.
The good news is, the oral meds have 100% cure rate - just doesn't say after how long.
Hope it doesn't show up in the family picture.
Because I have to tell you, that wasn't in my collage.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
In Shifts
Or, in which I use language that will make my mother blush.
A couple of years ago, I came across an advertisement for a job. I might have considered it, but it said: "Must like shit work."
And I don't so much, so I sent the ad to Leno instead.
When our first blossom was tiny, as you know, dh and I took shifts during the night. This was the only way for either of us to get any sleep -ds's reflux and vomitting were that bad. Now there's the kangaroo sleeper, but that was then.
DH and I had always had different sleeping patterns, so we were able to come to a somewhat agreeable arrangement. Shifts were not entirely equal, as I nursed each time (ds rejected the bottle with pumped milk). But on his shift, dh burped, changed and cuddled and held our baby while I slept in peace.
We're back to sleeping in pieces. In theory, that should help us all attach, but here's the problem with our current shifts: Our baby is an active toddler, who wakes up one hour after I gp to sleep and either screams for a long time or believes it's playtime - most recently the latter occurs, for three hours. And so my shift has become a battle of wills. I refuse to have a midnight playdate, though I'm happy to walk, bounce, rock, snuggle. And this does not make her happy,
Dh's shift begins at 5am, when Miss I awakes happily, smiles and says "Up-pah, Dadda" and then "bah." So she drinks her bah, snuggles against his chest, watches a bit of Sesame Street, and falls asleep for another hour.
Once we tried to switch shifts. But I am a light sleeper, and I'm now prepared to wake up at first fussing - this is how to avoid the wrath. So I took my "shift" and still took his, only that day she awoke at 4am. I did what anyone would do - I cried.
I learned several things:
I sleep too lightly
I have terrible luck
I still do not like shi(f)t work, though I do love to cuddle, and bounce and play - at the right times (not night times).
A couple of years ago, I came across an advertisement for a job. I might have considered it, but it said: "Must like shit work."
And I don't so much, so I sent the ad to Leno instead.
When our first blossom was tiny, as you know, dh and I took shifts during the night. This was the only way for either of us to get any sleep -ds's reflux and vomitting were that bad. Now there's the kangaroo sleeper, but that was then.
DH and I had always had different sleeping patterns, so we were able to come to a somewhat agreeable arrangement. Shifts were not entirely equal, as I nursed each time (ds rejected the bottle with pumped milk). But on his shift, dh burped, changed and cuddled and held our baby while I slept in peace.
We're back to sleeping in pieces. In theory, that should help us all attach, but here's the problem with our current shifts: Our baby is an active toddler, who wakes up one hour after I gp to sleep and either screams for a long time or believes it's playtime - most recently the latter occurs, for three hours. And so my shift has become a battle of wills. I refuse to have a midnight playdate, though I'm happy to walk, bounce, rock, snuggle. And this does not make her happy,
Dh's shift begins at 5am, when Miss I awakes happily, smiles and says "Up-pah, Dadda" and then "bah." So she drinks her bah, snuggles against his chest, watches a bit of Sesame Street, and falls asleep for another hour.
Once we tried to switch shifts. But I am a light sleeper, and I'm now prepared to wake up at first fussing - this is how to avoid the wrath. So I took my "shift" and still took his, only that day she awoke at 4am. I did what anyone would do - I cried.
I learned several things:
I sleep too lightly
I have terrible luck
I still do not like shi(f)t work, though I do love to cuddle, and bounce and play - at the right times (not night times).
Monday, July 10, 2006
Two Things
Dear I.,
Apart from all the ways I'm trying really hard to be a good Momma to you (even when it feels impossible for me to do) I am working extra hard at two seemingly inconsequential things. These things seem to make the least sense to you, with the exception of my cutting off the Nilla Wafers, so I thought I'd explain them now (and again when you are really listening):
1. I do not want to raise you to be an insomniac like your momma. It may already be too late for Thing One, who doesn't fall asleep easily and sleeps lightly (your screaming is not helping). Please, help me help you develop healthy sleep habits now! Or someday you'll be thirty years old and lying wide awake while your kids sleep just because you know they're about to wake up and you'd rather not be woken (after all, they have been waking you up once an hour, so you're in the habit . . .) Learn from Daddy, who can fall asleep in an instant to capitalize on rare quiet. Or from our friends children, who fall asleep at 8 and know not to get out of bed until 7 am (at 2. years old).
2. I refuse to raise you to be "the tender-headed daughter of a white woman," something I have been warned against and can't get out of my own head. So I'm taking longer than I need to in order to condition your hair and scalp. You might hate it, but you have to learn to sit still-ish now. One grandma and grandpa told your Daddy that they stay up all night to do their grandaughter's hair while she sleeps. Which leads me back to point one, and my exhaustion. Though hey, I'm already up, so . . .
I love you. Now go to sleep - after I condition your scalp.
Love,
Momma
Apart from all the ways I'm trying really hard to be a good Momma to you (even when it feels impossible for me to do) I am working extra hard at two seemingly inconsequential things. These things seem to make the least sense to you, with the exception of my cutting off the Nilla Wafers, so I thought I'd explain them now (and again when you are really listening):
1. I do not want to raise you to be an insomniac like your momma. It may already be too late for Thing One, who doesn't fall asleep easily and sleeps lightly (your screaming is not helping). Please, help me help you develop healthy sleep habits now! Or someday you'll be thirty years old and lying wide awake while your kids sleep just because you know they're about to wake up and you'd rather not be woken (after all, they have been waking you up once an hour, so you're in the habit . . .) Learn from Daddy, who can fall asleep in an instant to capitalize on rare quiet. Or from our friends children, who fall asleep at 8 and know not to get out of bed until 7 am (at 2. years old).
2. I refuse to raise you to be "the tender-headed daughter of a white woman," something I have been warned against and can't get out of my own head. So I'm taking longer than I need to in order to condition your hair and scalp. You might hate it, but you have to learn to sit still-ish now. One grandma and grandpa told your Daddy that they stay up all night to do their grandaughter's hair while she sleeps. Which leads me back to point one, and my exhaustion. Though hey, I'm already up, so . . .
I love you. Now go to sleep - after I condition your scalp.
Love,
Momma
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Better sleeping through furniture shopping?
Last night there wasn't any room in my bed for my head. I was so tired, I didn't notice, and slept with my head hanging off the side.
Since it doesn't look like our children will stay in their own beds any time soon, we're shopping for a bigger bed. If there's any chance it'll help me sleep, I'm sold.
----
(Saturday update: We bought it today and tonight Miss I fell asleep in her own room rather than the cosleeper. sigh).
Since it doesn't look like our children will stay in their own beds any time soon, we're shopping for a bigger bed. If there's any chance it'll help me sleep, I'm sold.
----
(Saturday update: We bought it today and tonight Miss I fell asleep in her own room rather than the cosleeper. sigh).
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Miss Independence Day
We didn't really celebrate Independence Day (though we had a lovely day with my parents): This year July 4 is squished between work days. Ds has an ear infection. And no one in our house slept last night (ds's ear infection awoke him, Miss I. went ballistic when he tried to join us in bed, dh tried to rock I. back to sleep while I lay down with ds, only to be shoved out of bed and on to the floor and then to be asked sadly, "Momma, where did you go?!") And it's rainy here, as it is in 43 other states. So no celebration.
But today we didn't-celebrate with our newest family member (who was, despite our lack of festivity, decked out in star spangled pants). She's already become American in some not-so-good ways: "No." "Mine." Picky eating and refusing to eat from the spoon I've loaded with yogurt and choosing instead to dump it because hey, she can. Shock at Toys R Us (her huge non-blinking eyes and head all a-swivel cracked us up) quickly dissolved into a love of shiny plastic crap with noise and lights.
But it really struck us all day that she is here, with us, now, in America! and that while it only seems to my sleepless brain that I have been both snuggling this little girl and exhausted forever, it was only a little over two weeks ago that she got off a plane, got in line for Immigration and Naturalization with a sealed brown envelope from the US Embassy in Addis, and was on the road to becoming a US Citizen. And that struck us as insanely weird and funny and also wonderful.
Happy first Independence Day, Miss I! I promise we'll see fireworks next year.
****
Coming soon - a rehashing of the Italian/Ethiopian conflict in honor of and preparation for an upcoming family reunion. Now there's some fireworks.
But today we didn't-celebrate with our newest family member (who was, despite our lack of festivity, decked out in star spangled pants). She's already become American in some not-so-good ways: "No." "Mine." Picky eating and refusing to eat from the spoon I've loaded with yogurt and choosing instead to dump it because hey, she can. Shock at Toys R Us (her huge non-blinking eyes and head all a-swivel cracked us up) quickly dissolved into a love of shiny plastic crap with noise and lights.
But it really struck us all day that she is here, with us, now, in America! and that while it only seems to my sleepless brain that I have been both snuggling this little girl and exhausted forever, it was only a little over two weeks ago that she got off a plane, got in line for Immigration and Naturalization with a sealed brown envelope from the US Embassy in Addis, and was on the road to becoming a US Citizen. And that struck us as insanely weird and funny and also wonderful.
Happy first Independence Day, Miss I! I promise we'll see fireworks next year.
****
Coming soon - a rehashing of the Italian/Ethiopian conflict in honor of and preparation for an upcoming family reunion. Now there's some fireworks.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Bedtime
We ran into college friends we hadn't seen in nine! years. They now have four kids. The first thing ds said was "Wow. I bet bedtime takes a long time at your house!"
It takes two hours now at our house.
As soon as it takes less than two hours, I will post more. I promise.
It takes two hours now at our house.
As soon as it takes less than two hours, I will post more. I promise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
