Joi Mitchell was right. You don't know what you've got till it's gone.
And by that, I mean the basic human right to sleep more than 30 minutes at a time. Yes, yes, I know: having a baby means you'll be moderately-to-severely sleep deprived at various point throughout their first year or life and even beyond in times of tumult (teething, illness, nightmares) but did anyone ever say, "oh, hey, I bet I can go a whole week without making it to REM and not lose my damn mind?!"
Nope. Not a chance. No one in the history of the world has ever said that because it is next to impossible.
Last night, I reached full-on fever dream territory. I dreamed that there was a formula pump that attached to my nipples; a handy tool for weaning mothers for middle-of-the-night feedings. The liquid was brownish, as formula tends to be when it oxidizes, but I couldn't turn it off so there was formula gushing everywhere in the bed and Tess was not pleased with it to begin with so she was crying and I just couldn't stop the stupid pump so I flooded our bedroom with formula and then we went all "Bedknobs and Broomsticks," floating into the night.
OK, so I had been having weird waking dreams of our house being broken-into when it was really the neighbors slamming their toilet seat or something but this one took the cake. I had convinced myself that this was happening, could even taste the formula, and it took me staring at the clock which read 2:59 for me to realize that we were not, in fact, in imminent peril.
Whoa.
While I try not to dwell on specifics (which might be rather embarrassing, as threats of bodily harm come to mind) I absolutely do not recall reaching this frightful state of exhaustion in my first six weeks of motherhood. Sure, I was bone tired as my body was adjusting to the new demands of nursing and my hormones were settling but then, at least, Tess slept for a few hours at a time. Up to a week ago, we'd even make it to four hours at a stretch more than twice a week which was a huge improvement from the colicky weeks leading up to Christmas.
Dear Tempest has slept like crap since last Saturday and by "crap," I mean not at all. She will nap during the day because poor petunia is completely exhausted but even those naps are fitful and full of stirrings. The longest one never last more than 2.5 hours and that's only if I'm physically lying down next to her. I feel so guilty that my almost-5-month-old is experiencing sleep deprivation. Infants her age are still supposed to be getting at least 12 hours of sleep per day, which is laughable to me. Crazed laughter floods my head when I count up how much time she actually spends resting, if not sleeping: maybe 6-8 hours, including lap and shoulder snoozes? That's absurd and probably damaging to her neural development. Must. Not. Freak. Out. This is fixable, right? It has to be something she'll grow out of.
It's the teeth. It's the all the new activity. It's solid foods causing gas. Honestly, I don't know that it's one thing but I guarantee it's a combination of factors big enough to cause her this level of distress at night. In the day, she's her happy, inquisitive self. At night, we're talking Jekyll and Hyde. Is she overstimulated? Maybe. Is she in constant pain? Hard to say. Sometimes, yes. I see her grabbing her cheek or her ear and crying out. I wish those little white buds would hurry up and break through to give her some relief. I think it gets worse overnight because the ache is all she has to focus on. The pediatrician recommended Tylenol before bed for as long as she's actively teething which "could be months" GEE THANKS. Last night was the very first night that Tess slept for a solid hour but even then, the duration was full of fraught wakings.
Did I mention we're back to co-sleeping? She has flat-out refused her crib for even so much as a 20 minute snooze since Sunday. She's happy to play in there while I'm in the shower or taking Oscar out but sleeping there? Forget it. The pack-n-play, formerly my go-to for mid-afternoon naps, is now a no-go. If I hold her, she'll doze, but if I sneeze or cough or even twitch slightly, it's all over. I feel like I'm tip-toeing around a very cuddly, adorable land mind and I absolutely do not want to disturb it.
Of course, my distress, while temporary, is nothing compared to what my poor daughter is going through. I know all babies go through teething; I did, Rhett did, we are no worse for the wear but I suspect not all children have such an intense experience as our Tempest. I feel helpless. Nothing I am doing seems to be working so all I can do is provide my love, my breast, my bear-hug embrace and wait it out, as she must.
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