paper of any kind
the iPhone charger
the straps on his carseat
the edge of the coffee table
any and all toys
anything shaped vaguely like a cup
any home decor item not nailed down
He sleeps fine! No need to sleep train. I nurse him a few minutes and boom! Out like a light. Sure, he wakes a few times to eat at night, but he just falls right back to sleep. No problem. Sleep training is unnecessary and cruel. He needs his mommy, 24 hours a day, and I AM HERE FOR HIM.
What is going on?!? Nothing I do will put this baby to sleep. Every naptime and bedtime is a battle. And I can't believe he was awake from 3-4am for NO REASON. Again. Curse you, sleep gods! Where the f*ck is the f*cking coffee?!?
OK, if you start sleeping through the night, I will never make you take another nap again. Or, not even the whole night. If you just wake up to eat but then go right back to sleep like you used to, that's fine. And also, I'll buy you a pony. And a car. Just, please, SLEEP!
Oh dear Lord, I'm going to be rocking this child to sleep until he's in college. Why is this happening to me? I just want to sleep.
I am really, really over this. Kid needs to learn to fall asleep on his own, one way or the other. Where are those sleep training books?
Somehow, my little peanut hit 5 months on Tuesday.
At this point, I thought I'd actually have time to write in this blog.
At this point, I thought I'd be getting more sleep.
At this point, I thought he'd entertain himself more, and I'd get things done around the house.
At this point, I thought I'd be able to count on 2 solid naps a day.
At this point, I thought I'd be done discussing poop.
At this point, though, I finally understand why people have more than 1 kid.
Every day brings something new and exciting. Some good (rolling over!); some bad (waking up at 3am to talk to himself). But every time he grabs my face in his hands and gazes at me lovingly--before opening his jaws wide and trying to devour my nose--I think it's all worth it.
This annoying, useless THING that you just can't seem to stop doing, no matter how useless it is.
It doesn't help anything. It doesn't make you feel better. In fact, it probably makes you feel worse.
But you can't NOT do it.
I call it "mommy math."
8pm. Ok, if he sleeps for 4 hours, he'll be up at 12am, and I go to bed at 10:30, so that gives me . . . 1.5 hours sleep. If he's back asleep at 12:30 for another 3 hours, I'm up to . . . 4.5 hours sleep. Then maybe he'll go another 2, 2.5 after that, so that's . . . 6.5, 7 hours of sleep. Ok, that's reasonable. I can live with that.
Ugh. It's 3am. I've had about 3 hours of sleep. If he falls back asleep by 3:30 and goes another 3 hours, that's 6. That's reasonable. Or maybe he'll sleep until 8! By magic! And then I'll get . . . 7.5 hours of sleep! I can conquer the world on that!
Grrr. He's been up 3 times tonight already. We all went to bed at 10, and then he was up at 11:30 for a half hour, then again at 2 for another half hour, and now it's 4 and he's up again. So I've had . . .5 hours of sleep. He'd better sleep for another 3 hours. Then I'll get 8 hours of crappy, interrupted sleep, which isn't awful . . .
You have an unstoppable obsession with EXACTLY how much sleep you're getting. As if knowing the number of hours, however ridiculous or "reasonable," will somehow make you feel less tired. When the reality is, even if you're ultimately getting 8 hours of sleep, waking up 5 times a night is going to leave you feeling like you've been run over by a freight train.
And you know that.
You know, deep down in your heart, that the numbers are meaningless--that you're going to be tired, that you're going to drink a vat of coffee, and you're going to forget something important because your brain has turned to mush, and no amount of reassuring math will change that.