Sleep, or lack therof.

I've written about being tired, but the topic needs to be revisited now that Marek has arrived.

Ryan and I are both so exhausted some days that hilarity ensues.  For example, last night, Ryan was reading his book while I fed the baby.  We were talking, and he just suddenly stopped responding.  He had fallen asleep, with his light on, and his head in the book.  I considered being offended, but since I can't remember what we were talking about, I guess it wasn't that important anyway.

Marek doesn't have a sleep pattern yet.  Some nights he's asleep at 7pm, some nights it's 9pm.  Some nights he's awake twice for food, some nights it's just once, and some nights he's just up once but it's for three or four hours!  Mostly I pick him up from the cradle, feed him and if he's fussy after eating, I keep him in bed with me.  The other morning I woke up in a total panic, tossing blankets everywhere, horrified that I might have fallen asleep with Marek eating and smothered him.  I couldn't find him, and the seconds ticked by as I tore apart the bed and pillows looking for him.  Then I looked in the cradle, where he was sleeping peacefully, totally oblivious to my sleep-deprived flip out. 

Clink.  Clinkety-clink.  Scuffle scuffle.  Clink.  What is that noise?  It's the sound of my nearly two year old scaring me into an early grave.  I awoke to a strange clinking sound one night last week, and in a panic, sent Ryan out to the kitchen to find the source.  Ryan found Chester, standing on the chair he had pushed over to the counter, and chopping a pear with my butcher's knife.  I used to think I'd hear anything these guys did in the night, but now I'm not so sure.  So we're back to baby-gating them out of the kitchen and living room, and in addition, we've added alarms to the exterior doors and added locks at the top of the stairs.  We used to have baby-proof door knobs for the doors, but my kids can outsmart those silly door knob covers so we've moved to more secure pre-schooler proofing. 

Speaking of Chester trying to scare me into an early grave, he tripped over his own two feet in the living room this week, and put his bottom teeth through his lip.  At this point, I've given up (see previous blogs of Chester's injuries) and after we stopped the bleeding, I determined that it wasn't worth stitches as the cut on the outside was small, and the local ER here doesn't stitch inside the mouth.  (Is that a policy across the country, or just the ER here?)  He looks fabulous with a huge fat lip and a bruise on his forehead.  I'm still taking his pictures this weekend for his second birthday.  It's nearly healed now, and even if he still had a swollen lip, I think it's important to document these things to embarrass him in front of his future girlfriends.

The snuggles keep me from going bat shit crazy.

Despite any (okay, a lot) of frustration with the pre-schooler recently, he really is my sweet little guy.  Pete will be four in April, and he's finally giving up naps.  I'm a little sad, because it means I'm losing about two hours of my day where I could also lay down for a break.  Realistically, adding in the third baby next month meant I was going to lose that two hours anyway, so now is a good time to accept the new routine.   But the consequence of an overtired pre-schooler around here means he can dissolve into a fit of tears over the slightest provocation that wouldn't normally phase him.  It also means he is quite hyper, literally running into the walls, the couch, the chair over and over while screaming made up songs in an effort to fight the sleep.

Pete is now typically able to make it all day with just a quiet time after lunch while Chester sleeps, but occasionally he just can't take it anymore.  Here's what happened while I cooked dinner earlier this week:

Tonight I could see that Pete was having a rough afternoon, barely keeping it together while I made dinner (a failed attempt at General Tso's but that's a whole other blog).  We pushed up the time for jammies, cleaning the toys and 30 minutes of a special show (the current favorite is the DVR of Ice Age Christmas) and by 7pm we sat down to read a book in our rocking chair.  I snuggled him up on my lap and read the Lion King book.  And then he fell asleep in my arms as we rocked.  It's been years since Pete has fallen asleep in my arms and it's one of the sweetest things in life.  It's enough to give me the strength for tomorrow, and one day at a time is all you can ask for with soon to be three boys under four. 

Party!

Everyone loves a party!  Except at 3am.  Well, actually, there was a time when I loved a party at 3am.  They were called late-nights at our school, though I've also heard to them referred as after-hours.  Regardless of what you call them, I long ago stopped looking for a party after the bars closed.  In fact, it's been years since I closed down a bar and over six months since I've been to a bar at all. 

Last night, however, I was the unwilling attendee at a 3am party in my house.  Chester decided to throw a bash, and insisted I come with him.  He came stumbling down the hall (very reminiscent of previous 3am parties) and stood next to my bed.  I gently took his hand and guided him back to his bed, tucked him in, patted his back and left.  This was repeated 15 minutes later, 30 minutes after that, and once more at 4:15am. 

On a side note, I'd like to mention that the infamous third-trimester insomnia seems to have arrived two weeks early here.  I had little to no hope of falling back to sleep between these visits, even if Chester had actually gone back to sleep himself.  This is yet another phase of pregnancy that I despise.  Even completely exhausted, I have a tough time falling asleep at night, and waking up, even to pee (because every pregnant woman I know pees all night, don't deny it!) can bring hours of boredom staring at the ceiling fan or listening to passing cars and every squeak or sigh of the house settling. 

Back to the party last night, I heard him playing in his room until he returned to my room, quite insistent at 5:30am. At least he wasn't crying, I suppose.  After Chester returned to my room, he climbed into the laundry basket, throwing all the dirty clothes on the floor so he could use the overturned basket to climb up and stand in the window.  I can only imagine what would have happened if a police car or other mandated reporter drove past the house with a toddler standing on the windowsill waving to passing cars at 5:30am?   

I finally removed the gate to the living room and turned him loose, thanking my lucky stars that I cleaned it before going to bed so that he could have the run of the living room and playroom while I tried to reclaim any of the last 2 1/2 hours of sleep I had lost to his party antics.  He promptly rewarded me for granting his freedom by bringing me a ginormous care bear from the pile of teddy bears in the playroom.  And then the stuffed turtle.  And the stuffed Harley dog.  Finally he stumbled back to his own room and jumped on his brother at 6am. 

At this point, working on approximately four hours of sleep, I turned on an episode of Dora for the boys and set about my morning.  I served eggs and toast in the living room, unwilling to fight a battle to get them to the kitchen table.  I started a load of dishes in the dishwasher, washed and packed grapes with cheese sticks for the class snack, dressed a pre-schooler, a toddler and myself and made it out the door by 7:30am.  Though quite reminiscent of the many Friday morning classes I attended with little sleep, now ten years older, and pregnant, I'm not quite as perky after a night of little sleep.  I managed to leave for preschool on time with everyone dressed and all of our bags in the car for the day, which is an amazing feat on eight hours of sleep, let alone four. 

After we dropped off Pete, Chester and I headed for the gym.  By then, he's been awake for over 5 hours, leading me to believe he'll pitch a fit and get thrown out of playcare before my boot camp class has even started.  I arm the playcare ladies with chocolate milk, chocolate graham fishies and grapes cut in half.  Yes, I'm the Mom feeding my kid sugary snacks to keep him happy at the YMCA, judge me, I dare you.  Shocked that we made it through class, I returned to pick up Chester, only to find him fast asleep.  He looked so peaceful that if we didn't have to pick up Pete from school, I would have left him there while I curled up on some yoga mats!  Sigh.  I guess when you get up at 3am, naptime can be 10am....

Patience, right?

And here I sit.  I sit in the rocking chair and supervise nap time.  Not the actual sleeping part of naptime, but the hour it takes for them to fall asleep in their beds.  Weeks ago, we moved to an 11am lunch aiming for naptime to begin between 11:30am-noon.  The idea was that napping slightly earlier in the day (they had been napping around 1pm or later) would make bedtime easier, which would make for happier and well-rested children, even if they continue getting up at 5am. 

Routine is supposed to make this easier.  And we certainly have routine, they're just not catching on that at the end of the routine, they should close their eyes and sleep.   

After lunch we use the potty and put on a pull-up (Pete), change the diaper (Chester), we wash hands, read a book and then they lay down in bed.  This is where the fiasco begins.  Chester is doing headstands, folding in half with his toes over his head, stretching out off the edge of the bed, getting out of bed to look out the window, etc.  Pete is alternately doing the same and yelling at Chester to get back in his bed.  So I've taken to sitting in their room while they fall asleep.  Then I cover them up and leave to attend to my own needs, like lunch or cleaning the kitchen and folding laundry.  We're coming up on week three of the routine, and they are still bouncing off the walls for an hour, at least.

Bedtime is similar, though it also involves a shower, pajamas, one cartoon of choice (typically Go, Diego, Go these days) in addition to the potty trip and bedtime stories.  And then an hour or more while I sit and threaten "get back in bed" and "put your head on your pillow".  I also pick them back up and put them back in bed without additional snuggles.  Consistency is key in training dogs, husbands and children.  Anytime I try to leave the room before they're both asleep and I hear little feet making a pitter-patter for the door, the other bed or the books on the bookshelf.  Last night it lasted from 7:30pm to 9:15pm!   

So there goes two to three hours of my day, spent sitting quietly in a dark room, wishing my children would catch on to the concept, and that I will have the patience to continue sitting and rocking waiting for them to fall asleep.  I  guess the alternative is duct taping them to the bed, and duct taping their eyes shut before I leave the room.     

Ridiculously Early

I have some advice for my single female friends out there:  Don't just marry someone with whom you fall in love, and want to spend the rest of your life.  Don't just consider how handsome and respectful and persistent and talented he is.  Don't just marry someone who makes you laugh and holds your hand when you cry. 

Marry someone who likes to sleep in. 

Though we met and got married fairly quickly in the grand scheme of things, I thought I had worked through all the important questions in choosing a mate.  Sure, my darling husband has a few quirks, like leaving his pants on the floor right next to the laundry basket, but I have many of my own quirks that he forgives/ignores, and really he's pretty much the perfect husband for me.  I'll spare you the long list of reasons why, but suffice it to say he's amazing and I love him and consider myself extremely lucky to have gone out to the bar that cold night in January 2004.  After having children, it was even more apparent that I'd chosen an excellent man to be a father as well.  Not only does he love his children, he plays with them, and cares for them, and can even be left alone with them (unless you leave him alone in the toy section of a store).  He's a better father than I am a mother, hands down.

But he's a morning person.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a morning person too.  I love my sleep, and with an appropriate 8 hours of sleep, I can happily schedule myself for a 7am yoga class and 8am college classes all week long.  If I'm up late, however, I still need those 8 hours of sleep, so going to the bars until midnight means I'm not a happy camper at 6am.  When I trained for marathons through the summer, necessitating 5am long runs on Saturday mornings to avoid heat, I just scaled back my Friday nights to be in bed at 8:30pm and awake and out the door with shoes laced up by 4:30am. 

Then came children.  You expect sleepless nights when they're newborns.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that my babies slept 4-5 hours at night pretty much from the start.  They quickly stretched to six hours at a time followed by another 3-4 hours.  I was in heaven.  I could handle this!  Both of my boys then hit a sleep regression wall around five months.  They were up every hour for food, but still "night" didn't end until 7am or later, so I survived.  I was a zombie some days, and it seemed unmanageable at times, but I survived.  And finally, when we settled into a once-a-night wake-up routine, the sweet little boys start waking up for the day at 5am. 

I spent an entire summer hanging laundry in the backyard before 6am.  My neighbor, leaving for a 7am shift would smile and wave as I hung another diaper on the line.  I just got used to it and worked around it.  We arranged coffee dates and playdates for 8am, as early as our friends could manage.  I went to the YMCA for early morning aerobics classes while the boys played in playcare before any other children arrived.  We scheduled doctor appointments for 8am or went jogging with friends at 7am.  I had no qualms about signing Pete up for school, even though we must leave the house by 7:45am to get there.  Then, they miraculously started sleeping a little later.  6:30am was a pretty standard wake-up, and I counted myself lucky if we made it to the Today Show at 7am before hearing the wails indicating that someone was awake.

I must admit, now that I'm pregnant, I could use a little more than eight hours of sleep, but even eight hours is unattainable these days.  The boys are clearly a mix of Ryan (up at the ass crack of dawn) and me (once I'm up, I'm up, there's no rolling over and going back to sleep).  So now that they've reverted back to pre-5am wake-ups I'm at my wit's end trying to find a routine that works.  I've spent the last few mornings from 5am-7am trying to cajole them back into sleeping, telling them it's still sleeping time, nursing Chester in an attempt to lull him back to sleep, letting them sleep in my bed, even yelling at them that it's still nighttime.  Nothing works.  Nothing. 

I know of children who routinely have to be WOKEN to go to school, or get to a playdate on time.  My nephew is one who can sleep 8pm-9am and he's the same age as Chester!  Our time to venture out of the house is 8am-noon and they're just getting rolling for 11am playdates at the pool!  These children, who can be just as frustrating to a mom needing to schedule morning appointments, or make it to work on time, just have a different sleep cycle than mine.  There are pros and cons to both early birds and late sleepers. 

The moral of this sad, sleep-muddled and probably baffling and poorly written story is to consider your partner's natural circadian rhythms before saying I do and consenting to years of sleep deprivation when your children take after your partner's sleeping habits.  I don't care how smart, funny and handsome he is, you need to ask some important questions before you take him home from the bar.    

Ridiculously tired.

I know, over a year into this two-kid life, that I'm no longer the most exhausted mother on the planet (there were a few months there where I would have challenged anyone for that title!).  Shockingly, the first few weeks were not the worst for me as Chet slept a few hours stretch right from the beginning.  In fact, his serious sleep regressions didn't start until he was about five months old.  Suddenly he was up ever two hours, and it was taking a toll on me.  I know it's a growth spurt and at that age he's discovering new things (like crawling!) that keep them up all night.  I was willing to go with it and nurse through the growth spurt, but a growth spurt doesn't last six months- bad habits do!  At one point, I drank so much coffee that my nursling smelled like coffee, and my toddler thought the smell of coffee meant he got donuts.  He could point out the Dunkin Donuts logo and tell me Mama's cup! 

After being assured by my pediatrician that he was finally gaining the proper amount of weight and didn't need to eat all night every night, I started by telling myself I would only rock him back to sleep before 4am and after 4am, he would be allowed to eat.  That's about eight hours from his last meal to his early morning snack.  Finally at eleven months, I tried a little CIO, and my stubborn one took over a week to get good at sleeping, just in time for Ryan and I to take a much needed vacation and leave the kids with the Grandmas. 

At this point, the boys are sleeping relatively well, so I'm feeling quite in control these days.  With Chester in a toddler bed, if he needs me in the middle of the night, he just gets up and comes to me.  There's no crying involved, and everyone gets their needs met.  They go to sleep around 8-8:30am and wake between 6-7am and I feel like a champ most days, decently well rested.  They even nap together, giving me a chance to nap myself if we've had a rough night. 

But you're not here to learn how well-rested I am these days.  You want the funny stories of sleep deprivation.  We've all read how lack of sleep can cause symptoms like hallucinations, slow speech, movement, reactions and poor concentration.  I'm pretty sure those case studies were done on Moms!  When I don't get enough sleep, like many Moms, I am crabby, grouchy and short-tempered with my children and my husband.  I also start fumbling, missing the easy tasks, forgetting important appointments, etc.  

I'm not the only one who fumbles while tired and I won't identify who has done each of the following but instead leave you to guess:

On Chester's very first trip to the pediatrician, we made it all the way there, only to discover Chester was still swaddled in his car seat... not buckled in.  Oh, that was bad.  Very. Bad. 

On another trip, singing along in the car, suddenly not remembering the alphabet.  What comes after Q?  Good thing the toddler, then only 22 months had it handled.

While in traffic at 5am on a Saturday morning, someone driving the moving van fell asleep driving over the GW Bridge.  Not the finest moment, but thankfully no harm done. 

Got out of the car with it still in drive.  Whoops!  There goes the car!

Getting lost on the way to work?  Done that too.

On a more serious note- we are approaching the summer heat and I'll put this article out there for you to read.  It is VERY sad and you'll probably want to read it alone, not at work or in public, and you'll definitely want to hug your kids after you read it.  In a sleep-deprived fog, just about anything can happen, and I hope the article just keeps this at the front of your mind enough to prevent a tragedy.