To Sleep, Perchance to . . . Sleep

Sleep. The elusive dream.

One of the first major shocks of motherhood was just how little sleep I got. Looking back, it seems confusing, as the baby (in memory, at least) was on a 2 hour schedule. Sleep for 2 hours, wake, eat, sleep for 2 hours, wake, eat... Somehow, though, you just don't get to sleep. I guess there were plenty of times when the baby would NOT sleep, or wake up more often. There's that Momnesia again.

It doesn't necessarily get easier as they get older, either. Just more frustrating. Why can they sleep for 7 hours one night, then wake up every hour on the hour the next night? Why won't they nap when they are tired? Why do they cry when nothing is wrong? Is there something more I should be doing? What tricks am I missing out on?

The answer to these questions is one that takes some time to find. The answer is: there is no answer. There is no rhyme, reason, logic, or magic spell. You'll go crazy trying to figure it out, so give up now.

Then there is the big debate: to C.I.O., or not C.I.O. I fought C.I.O. for months, and when I finally let B administer that particular form of what I viewed as cruel and unusual punishment, I hated it, but it worked. O would still wake up, more from a wet diaper than anything, but B would change him and put him right back to bed and there was no crying. But that didn't mean we were in the clear, and it's all gone back to hell again.

Maybe I just have a crappy sleeper. Those that LOVE the Mom thing must have great sleepers, because I don't know anyone who can go 9 months on no sleep and be happy. I've been driven to the brink of insanity by sleep deprivation. It is physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting to fight a baby over a nap or bedtime. I could just let O stay up, but then he'd be even more over tired and less likely to go down.

I just keep hoping that at some point during the fight, he'll just pass out from exhaustion. And SOME DAY, he will sleep through the night. Right? RIGHT??!

Why Vaginal Childbirth Cannot be Considered a "Bonding Moment"

I have had a number of mothers who had C-sections bemoan to me how they felt shafted that they didn't have a beautiful birth experience wherein they bonded with their new baby through a vaginal delivery. Let me tell you sister - there is neither beauty nor bonding with that particular experience. The most beautiful thing about it is the epidural.

I don't know if I had a terrible labor or if I am just a wimp, but that ordeal was nearly unbearable. I was in labor for 44 hours. I went to the hospital when the contractions were 7 minutes apart, and after 4 hours with no change, they sent me home to suffer. Now, I laugh at my first trip - I was still able to smile and laugh when I arrived. And talk. And I wasn't crying. B tried to get me to eat dinner, but everything tasted like cardboard and truly, I had no appetite. We timed the contractions, and while they were getting more and more painful, they were not getting much closer together. I found that if I walked around, the contractions were less painful, but also more spread out. If I laid on the couch, they were closer together but also more painful. Eventually, after much crying and screaming in agony (poor B didn't know what to do and was scared witless), we decided to go back to the hospital. I may not have been ready to have the baby, but they had to do something. I had been in labor for roughly 29 hours at that point. Or maybe longer - my "Braxton-Hicks" contractions had gotten "really bad" about 29 hours earlier. Har har, joke's on me.

When we arrived, the nurse was taking me back to the maternity triage center, and I felt another contraction coming on. I stopped, grabbed the hand rail along the wall, bent over, and just started crying. Having not slept much at all the night before due to those really bad "Braxton-Hicks" nor sleeping at all that same night, I was too tired and could not take it anymore. They gave me a shot of morphine, which did precisely nothing. I still wasn't progressing, but I think the nurse took pity and said they would admit me. Once they got me into a room, they gave me a dose of something (Stadol, I believe), which the nurse equated to feeling very, very drunk. I was finally able to sleep, so I was happy. I do recall waking up at various points, either knowing that I was having a contraction and not caring, or feeling the full force of one but then falling right back asleep.

Sometime later (the timeline is a little fuzzy at this point), the pain medication began wearing off and it didn't take me that long to decide I most definitely wanted an epidural (there wasn't ever a real question, truly). Unfortunately (for both me and B, who had to put up with my screams), the anesthesiologist was busy, and so I had to wait. And wait. And scream. My room was right outside the nurses' station, and I bet they probably were pretty sick of hearing me yell. Finally, he came, and after 5 tries and some possible permanent nerve damage, I had an epidural. Hallelujah, I felt like a million bucks. I don't recall if they broke my water on the first pain med or the epidural, but at some point they did that. Did I mention I was also getting Pitocin? I don't recall when they started that, but I did have that all day as well.

I slept most of the day. I'd only wake to have the nurses switch me from side to side (the epidural settles to the bottom). Late that afternoon, the epidural began to wear off, so they gave me some more. Seriously, where can I get some of that stuff? Besides the very odd sensation of not being able to feel your lower half *what*so*ever* it was the greatest thing ever. Anyways, it was AFTER they gave me dose #2 that they decided to check me and found I was fully dilated. And I found out what they mean when they say that when you need to push, you NEED TO PUSH. It was a very distinct feeling. Due to the fresh dose of epidural, I pushed for about 2 minutes before I became very nauseous. So every other push, I got to throw up in one of those yellow plastic tubs. That was not fun. On the other hand, since I was fully drugged up, I felt nothing.

At 4:18pm, after 44 hours of knowing I was in labor, we had our beautiful baby boy. I admit, though, that I had a hard time concentrating on him, since the doctor was letting the resident (I think) stitch things up, and had to keep saying "No... No, don't do it like that... No, go over here and... No..." Um, please be careful with that, ok??

So no, I don't feel like I bonded in some special way by having a vaginal birth. I think carrying him inside of me for 9 months was way more of a bonding experience. And we all have that, so some degree. I do know that I will most definitely be requesting that epidural next time as well.

I Love You But...

A thread was started on the message board entitled "I Love You But..." There are some fantastic responses!

Here are mine:

I love you but... 4:30 am is NOT time to wake up.

I love you but... you have razor sharp claws, and I would appreciate it if you didn't use them to claw my face off.

I love you but... why do you nap 2 hours at day care, 3 hours at Nana's, and I'm lucky to get 1 full hour from you at home?

I love you but... if you'd just sleep at night, then we wouldn't have to do this whole cio thing.

I love you but... Daddy does too, so quit yelling if I leave you alone with him.

I love you but... the laptop power cable is not a chew toy. You have plenty of other toys you can chew on. And Daddy's $300 remote isn't one of them.

I love you but... I am not Mt. Everest. Please stop trying to climb me when we should be rocking and eating calmly before bed.

I love you but... your car seat is not a torture device. It's actually a very nice model with lots of cushions. There is no need to scream like I placed you on a spike when I strap you in. And I'm about 4 inches from you. You can see me if you turn your head. You don't need to writhe around like if you don't have both eyes on me, you'll die.

I love you but... you're growing up too fast. You have 6 teeth, can crawl, and are so close to talking it's scary. You're practically not a baby anymore. Cut it out with the big kid stuff already.

Why Am I Here?

Ok, we're just getting started, and I'll fess up completely - I didn't actually want to get pregnant at first.

When I was a kid, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. I had countless baby dolls that I dragged all over the place. Then I became a young adult and decided that going out at night and sleeping in sounded waaaaay more fun than being a parent, so I decided to stick with that for awhile. Then I met B, who knew he wanted more kids (his daughter H was 2 at the time), so in the haze of love I agreed that sounded divine. I felt I had plenty of time, though, and we could talk about it later (I was 22 when we were married; he: 32). Fast forward to 2006 - I was turning 27, B was turning 37, and I realized I didn't exactly fall into that "20-somethings" category anymore. I may have been 27, but the ubiquitous "they" were definitely referring to the other end of the decade spectrum when using that label. It was time to get crackin'.

Still, I was nervous. Did we want to do this? I had gotten used to our life. I liked bumming around town with B & H on the weekends. B and I no longer went out partying anymore, but if we wanted to go down to the pub for a pint after dinner, we could. I knew that much would change. As 2006 turned to 2007, I decided there was no more running. I stashed the birth control pills in the back of the linen closet, took a deep breath, and we got to work.

Much to B's disappointment, we got pregnant almost immediately. Well, of course he was happy, but he was hoping it would take a *little* more work. We were definitely blessed in that regard. The soon-to-be grandparents on both sides were ecstatic; and we took to readying the nursery and taking out a second mortgage to buy the 10 tons of baby gear I just had to have.

I was lucky to have a very easy pregnancy: no morning sickness, no hemorrhoids, no complications, not even heartburn, which I had very badly before the pregnancy - oddly, it got better. The only complaint, other than weighing 40 extra pounds, was that the baby had his foot wedged in my diaphragm the last 2 months, which made moving, breathing, and sleeping excruciatingly painful. Other than that, and suspecting that I had sacks of rocks tied to my ankles (I couldn't see them to verify this) when attempting to climb stairs, I really enjoyed being pregnant. I'll freely admit, though, that may be the Momnesia talking.

It was after we came home with our darling little bundle of joy (the cutest baby ever, by the way), that I suddenly realized I had no idea what to do with him. The kid wanted to eat all the time, and while he needed to nap ever 1 1/2 - 2 hours, I was somehow getting NO SLEEP. I didn't know it was possible to get literally no sleep. Was I anything other than a feeding machine? Anyways, more on all that later. Can't give away all the goods in one go.

It was not until a few months into this did I find a message board online where a like-minded group of ladies were "meeting" to discuss just how much this Mom thing was not how they envisioned it, and - gasp! - it wasn't their favorite thing in the world. In fact, quite often, it sucked. We all love our babies, no mistaking that, we just wonder sometimes how much we could get for them on eBay. These were my kind of ladies.

Next up: I'll shatter all the dreamy illusions of you pregnant FTMs out there with the birth story.