4:40 am - Marathon night sessions

This is the time of night I cherish. Oh, wait, no, that's not right. This is the time of night I want to scream bloody hell, throw in the towel, and jump off a bridge. This isn't every night, but it's probably half of them. The nights when Fiona decides that only her first 30 or 40 minutes of her late night feeding session will be peaceful, and then the rest of it is going to suck righteously. And so is she. So as I hold my breath for her to stay asleep now that I've put her down after two hours of feeding, burping, attempting unsuccessfully to burp, cajoling, calming, attempting unsuccessfully to calm, and growing exceedingly frustrated with this whole breastfeeding my daughter baloney, I'm going to use this time to decompress and further scare the ever living pants off of all my readers who occasionally wonder whether having a baby is for them.

Typically these marathon sessions go like this: after a surprising 3- or 4-hour stretch of sleep (very unusual for our 2-hour-maximum sleeper), I'll go into the nursery to find Little Miss Hungry clicking for a nipple (I say "clicking" because she makes a cute vocal smacking noise when she's trying to wake herself up to eat). At this point, I am always more than happy to oblige. Some night feeding sessions are really lovely and rewarding, when she's peaceful and sleepy and looks right at me as she eats. So we settle into the glider rocker for some late night chow. Now, Fiona has been known to be a spitter - occasionally of the projectile variety - so pulling her off every five or so minutes to be burped usually figures into the equation. Sometimes this irritates her. When it does, it is a sign of pending doom as far as the amount of sleep I'm going to get for the rest of the night.

After the first 10 minutes and two good burps, if she's still hungry, we go back to it. But by now, burping will be nearly impossible. This is why when we get beyond the first 10 minutes in a nighttime feeding session, I know I'm screwed. Because if she can't burp, that means she's got gas. And like any obsessive eater, a full and gassy tummy will not stand in the way of her eating herself silly. In fact, this feeling will probably make her want to shove that much more food into her tiny little gullet. But now her eating will take on an urgency that veers toward panic. Pulling her off for a good burp results in about 15 minutes of fruitless back smacking paired with intermittent high-pitched screeching wails of protest. Right into my ear canal, usually.

After the 15 minutes of attempted burping, if she's still wailing, I'll give in and put her back to the breast, hoping she didn't already suck it dry. But because her tummy hurts, Fiona won't just nurse peacefully. Heavens no. She tosses her head about like a drunkard and flails her arms like she's in a Tool video (watch right around the 4:00 mark and you'll see what I mean). I can stick the nipple directly in her mouth, but she'll still holler like I've been denying her food for weeks, apparently not noticing that what she wants is in her mouth.

This will continue for an untold period of time. There will be countless more ineffective attempts to burp her, but there is a 98% chance I will get barfed on multiple times. Even as I write this, I am watching a particularly large patch of spit up breast milk on my pajamas dry. More screaming will ensue, as will more desperate attempts to shove the nipple in her mouth so she is quiet for at least one precious moment or two (knowing full well it will lead to me getting spit up on). There will be begging and pleading for mercy on my part. I will stick the pacifier in her mouth multiple times as well in an effort to calm her down and get her to stop using my poor beleaguered nipples as binkies with benefits. And until that random, surprising moment when she simply drops off to sleep for no apparent reason, this pattern will continue.

So far the longest marathon session lasted 3 hours. Tonight's was only 2, so perhaps I should count my blessings. The problem is that afterwards, because I'm awake for so long and don't have the luxury of being a newborn who can fall asleep anytime, anywhere at all hours of the day (that phenomenon occurs only when I really don't want it to), I'm left wide awake and not a little resentful of Fiona, my darling husband, and the dog, all of whom are getting to sleep through the night just as much as they want. In Fiona's case, of course, what she misses out on in sleep during the night hours will be made up during the following day - if I'm lucky. And if I'm extra lucky, she'll allow me to take a nap of more than 20 minutes at some point.

From the silence coming through the baby monitor, it seems as though sleepytime for Fiona has taken hold, and I can safely crawl back into bed. Having spent this time chilling out, I may even be able to fall asleep in short order - only to have to get up again in a couple hours. Let's hope the light of day brings a little more peace. And for those of you who think this kind of business is reason enough to swear of having children forever, I'd rethink it. Once I've gotten a little more sleep and the ringing in my ears from Fiona screaming directly into them has faded, I'll have a whole new perspective and I'll want nothing more than to kiss and hug her all day long because I love her so much. It's just these damn wee hours that get to me.