I've always known the old adage, "babies can sleep through anything." I'd witnessed the strange ability for babies and toddlers to shut out the noisy world around them and have a nap. It's uncanny, really.
But then of course, there are the times when even the slightest hint of a noise will wake a slumbering child into an upright shrieking banshee. Seriously, how do they do that? Fiona has scared the bejebus out of me more than once when I've walked into her room late at night to check in on her - silently as a cat - only to have her suddenly rise from her prone position - also silently as a cat - staring at me with those big blue eyes of hers. Sometimes I think she must still be asleep when she does that because leaving the room has no ill effect. Other times, naturally, if you're caught sneaking into the baby's room, she will make you pay. She will make your eardrums pay. She will make your own need for sleep pay. This stock-straight standing thing she occasionally does when roused from sleep by a mere whisper of sound reminds me of movies where dead bodies in morgues suddenly sit up with their sheets still over their head. Yeah, it's that creepy.
OK, sorry, I got distracted. So, babies sleep through anything. Yes, back to that. Today Fiona amazed me most of all. I put her down for a nap a little after noon when she was so tired she fell asleep while I was feeding her. And of course, not 10 minutes later, the roofers (expected either today or tomorrow) showed up. And they immediately set up their first ladder directly in front of Fiona's window. And proceeded to clomp all over the roof of the house as they ripped it to shreds.
I cannot emphasize this next part enough: this shit was LOUD, people. LOUD! Had I not known what was going on up there, I would have been scared out of my mind. Actually, even knowing what it was I was a little scared. I think it was only 5 guys, but it sounded like 50. And it went on for nearly three hours. Pounding, pulling, banging, clomping, crashing.
And that baby didn't even so much as peep. I'll grant that she's obviously still under the weather from her cold; and it was significantly later in the day than she's used to taking her first nap (at least on the days she's home with me). I also put a small fan in her room for a bit of extra white noise. But this was the equivalent of a herd of elephants stomping across the roof! Really?? Fiona will pop to life at the sound of the teeny, tiny click her door makes when I come in her room, but will sleep like, well, a baby during the cacophony we heard today? Well. OK, then. Maybe that means I don't need to tiptoe around this joint so much at night.
Showing posts with label sleepless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleepless. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Crying it Out
These are tough times.
I'm sitting in our living room, listening to the heart-wrenching sound of my daughter crying herself silly. It is nearly 10:00 - about 2 hours after her usual bedtime. Of course, her bedtime has slipped considerably in the past few days as she has decided that going to sleep is not really her thing, regardless of how exhausted she is. And she is definitely exhausted today, as she was yesterday, and as she was the day before.
Fiona used to be a champion sleeper. By the time I returned to work after my maternity leave, she was frequently sleeping through the night. And the nights she did wake up, it was to be fed just once, and I was happy to bring her to the big bed with me where she'd remain for the duration. Eventually she got to a point where she wasn't waking up hungry, and she slept all the way through almost every night. I counted myself among the lucky ones.
Then disaster struck - in the form of two top teeth - about six weeks ago. She was pretty uncomfortable with the new chompers breaking through. Then she got the mysterious itchy rash that forced us to stop solids for a bit. Taking the food she had grown accustomed to out of the picture messed with her hunger levels a little, so we were back to waking up for food in the wee hours.
After a couple of particularly rough nights a few weeks back, plus the fact that M's parents would be soon be taking her for an entire weekend while he and I were off for a wedding in New Hampshire, pushed us to what I called "Baby Sleep Bootcamp." I had planned to allow for lots of crying it out, difficult nights, and one really pissed off baby. Fortunately for all of us, Fiona did pretty well. She only hollered a little bit a couple times, and the few times she woke up in the wee hours, she put herself back to sleep after a little fake crying. All was well until this week. For whatever reason, the past 3 nights have been a nightmare again. Last night, I gave in when she woke up at 1:30 - only 2 hours after we'd managed to finally get her to sleep after much cajoling, rocking, and soothing - and I brought her to bed with me. Even then, she was not to be swayed, and she buffeted against me all night. I, too, am exhausted.
And now, as I have been writing, she has finally passed out. We went in three or four times during the howl-fest to reassure her that we were still around.But in between those visits, we let her scream it out. And lo and behold, it worked. Painfully, but here we are... and it is quiet. She fell asleep while sitting up, and slouched over her own lap. We gently put her into a position that would not cut off the blood supply to her legs, and she remained asleep. I am cautiously optimistic for now.
That said, I worry about of the sanity my generous in-laws will retain after this weekend when M and I leave Fiona in their care for two full nights. Let's face it: letting your baby scream with misery and exhaustion is not for wimps. Good thing they're not wimps. I'm a wimp. But then, I'm her mother.
I'm sitting in our living room, listening to the heart-wrenching sound of my daughter crying herself silly. It is nearly 10:00 - about 2 hours after her usual bedtime. Of course, her bedtime has slipped considerably in the past few days as she has decided that going to sleep is not really her thing, regardless of how exhausted she is. And she is definitely exhausted today, as she was yesterday, and as she was the day before.
Fiona used to be a champion sleeper. By the time I returned to work after my maternity leave, she was frequently sleeping through the night. And the nights she did wake up, it was to be fed just once, and I was happy to bring her to the big bed with me where she'd remain for the duration. Eventually she got to a point where she wasn't waking up hungry, and she slept all the way through almost every night. I counted myself among the lucky ones.
Then disaster struck - in the form of two top teeth - about six weeks ago. She was pretty uncomfortable with the new chompers breaking through. Then she got the mysterious itchy rash that forced us to stop solids for a bit. Taking the food she had grown accustomed to out of the picture messed with her hunger levels a little, so we were back to waking up for food in the wee hours.
After a couple of particularly rough nights a few weeks back, plus the fact that M's parents would be soon be taking her for an entire weekend while he and I were off for a wedding in New Hampshire, pushed us to what I called "Baby Sleep Bootcamp." I had planned to allow for lots of crying it out, difficult nights, and one really pissed off baby. Fortunately for all of us, Fiona did pretty well. She only hollered a little bit a couple times, and the few times she woke up in the wee hours, she put herself back to sleep after a little fake crying. All was well until this week. For whatever reason, the past 3 nights have been a nightmare again. Last night, I gave in when she woke up at 1:30 - only 2 hours after we'd managed to finally get her to sleep after much cajoling, rocking, and soothing - and I brought her to bed with me. Even then, she was not to be swayed, and she buffeted against me all night. I, too, am exhausted.
And now, as I have been writing, she has finally passed out. We went in three or four times during the howl-fest to reassure her that we were still around.But in between those visits, we let her scream it out. And lo and behold, it worked. Painfully, but here we are... and it is quiet. She fell asleep while sitting up, and slouched over her own lap. We gently put her into a position that would not cut off the blood supply to her legs, and she remained asleep. I am cautiously optimistic for now.
That said, I worry about of the sanity my generous in-laws will retain after this weekend when M and I leave Fiona in their care for two full nights. Let's face it: letting your baby scream with misery and exhaustion is not for wimps. Good thing they're not wimps. I'm a wimp. But then, I'm her mother.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
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.
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.
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