When we found out I was pregnant this past January I knew that the hardest part for me would be prolonged sleep deprivation. Everything about me works better when I get enough sleep. I’m a better parent. I’m a (much) nicer person. My metabolism begins functioning again (slower than I’d like, but at least it does something). I have (much more) patience (with everyone).
In my head I set Christmas as my endpoint. I told myself that if I could make it to Christmas we’d be sleeping through the night again. I told myself that if we could make it through the Christmas celebrations and Liam’s birthday then we’d soon find our new normal. We’d be (mostly) whole again. We’d function as a family of four.
I’ve learned a few things about expectations since September 13th. I’ll take a few minutes to share what I’ve learned with you before I head to my room to bang my head against the wall.
- Every birth experience is different. Sometimes you have a hellacious labor followed by an incredibly painful recovery. Sometimes you have a very smooth induction followed by a life-threatening placental delivery.
- Some people have small babies. Some people have normal sized babies. I only have ginormous babies.
- Some babies don’t have acid reflux. Some babies have mild acid reflux. Some babies have bad acid reflux. Some babies have severe acid reflux. My babies only have reflux that’s bad enough to require medication. The first one was merely bad. This one has been truly awful. I’m certainly not going to find out if the trend would continue.
- Some babies are calm and sweet. Some babies are smiley and screechy. That’s all I have to say about that.
- Some babies sleep through the night (and for me this means at least 8 consecutive hours that coincide with 8 consecutive hours of sleep for me and Matt) at 11 weeks. Some babies are almost 15 weeks old and still won’t sleep through the night.
- Some pregnancies don’t cause sleep deprivation. Some pregnancies cause sleep deprivation that begins when you pee on the stick. I’ve had both and I’m here to tell you that the second kind leads to complete insanity and total stupidity. Also, did I mention I’m not very nice when I don’t get sleep?
- Even lactation consultants who have been on the job for 30 years have a breaking point at which they say: “not that you need my blessing or permission but in case it matters, you have both of those things when I tell you that if you want to formula-feed this baby, it’s okay and that your mental health and the mental health of your whole family means more than colostrum.”
- Some babies nurse easily. Some women have no trouble producing milk. My babies don’t nurse at all. I don’t produce any milk. This still makes me a little sad.
- Some babies drink regular formula with no trouble. Some babies can only drink liquid gold that causes blow-out diapers at least once a day (Every. Day.) and costs three times what regular formula costs. I’ve had both kinds of babies. Take a guess at which one I prefer…
- Some babies finish a bottle in 20-30 minutes. Some babies take hours to finish a bottle. Some babies take 20-30 minutes sometimes and hours other times with absolutely no rhyme or reason as to why.
- Some babies are (mostly) predictable. Some are not. The baby who is unpredictable keeps you on your toes. If you’re on your toes all the time your balance suffers and you fall on your face. After you fall on your face you find yourself hoping that you need medical attention so that you can go to the hospital and get a good night’s sleep. Because flying by the seat of your pants all the time is unbelievably stressful and doing it all day every day (and night) is crazymaking.
- Some babies fall asleep easily and fall into a regular sleep schedule. These babies nap 2-3 times per day and sleep 11-12 hours at night. Some babies refuse to sleep and become so overtired that they don’t eat well and then wake up in the night because they’re hungry and overtired and then the cycle starts again. Having this type of baby has actually caused me to daydream about building a soundproof master suite onto our house so that I have a safe-room to hang out in when I just can’t take it anymore. I’ve thought about moving our bed into the treadmill room, removing the ceiling tiles and spraying foam insulation as a sound barrier into the remaining space. I’ve thought about putting Paige in an insulated cage (kind of like a dog house only nicer) in the backyard. I’ve thought about moving myself into an insulated cage in the backyard. I’ve thought about running away (on a regular basis).
The only things I’ve learned for sure are that expectations will get you into trouble and sleep deprivation will make you fat, angry, and mean. That and the confirmation beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will not EVER have any more babies.
I never knew that anything could be this hard (and yes I know that it could be much worse, but it’s extremely hard to look at that side of the coin when you’re as wrecked as I am). We got so lucky with our first child and I’m hoping against hope that things get better with the second in the very near future.
Something’s gotta give. Soon.
I’m tired of feeling like this and I’m beyond tired of hearing myself talk about feeling like this. I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes high that the night goes well with the full understanding that it’s not likely. One day at a time.
I think I can. I think I can. I think I can…
