All I really wanted for Christmas was to know that he is going to be ok. For months his sleep has gotten worse and worse. People keep telling me that they never slept when they were babies and they're fine, or about some book or other that I should read, or that I'm worrying too much. I saw my happy baby getting more and more exhausted and frustrated and his happy stretches getting shorter and shorter. Still - it was hard to get anyone other than Adam to take me seriously when I KNEW that something was wrong. Most people meant well, but what they were saying was basically that nothing was wrong even as I was shouting at the top of my lungs that something was wrong.
"I'll tire him out in the bath".
That was my mom's response to an email that I sent. I just cannot get it out of my head and every time I 'hear' it I get more hurt, more angry, more frustrated.
Tire him out? The kid is fucking exhausted EVERY SINGLE DAMN DAY! I tell her that he isn't sleeping. I tell her how worried I am about his mental development. She says that he's obviously bright and that if there was an issue, "of course we would know about it". Oh really? How? Are you a neurologist and I just never knew?
Motherhood, for me, has been an exercise in learning what happens when I pass my limits. Postpartum came as I passed the limits of hormone swings. Exhaustion as I passed the limits of sleeplessness. I don't know what to call this love that passes the limits of all description.
And now there is worry. Worry that turns to fear and ice in my gut. Worry that brings tears and frustration and despair and anger.
He doesn't sleep.
Thank God for Adam.
I'm not just saying that. I am sending up prayers of thanks constantly this morning.
We were in the car all day yesterday. There were so many errands to run and all of them seemed to involve a drive of 20-30 minutes. So the baby would get these mini naps and then I'd have to haul him out and into the drugstore, my doctor's office, his grandpa's house, the consignment store, home, BACK to the consignment store and back home. We were both exhausted by the end of the day. Was that part of it?
It's been almost two weeks. Adam comes into the bedroom at around 2 and says something like, "I'm sorry, but I have to go to sleep." I get up and go deal with the screaming demon seed we used to call our sweet baby.
I sit in the rocking chair that we both hate but we don't replace because the Bentwood rocker we want is too expensive and I rock. My back hurts and I rock. My arm cramps and I rock. I change a diaper thinking maybe he pooped? And I rock. I think about Adam asleep in the bed and I rock. I get REALLY PISSED OFF and I rock.
My father and sister are worried about me.
Before you all go getting super scared I'm fine. I'm actually doing better now than I have at any time since the Buddy was born (YAY!).
And yet… they're worried.