Wednesday, 29 June 2016

When Baby Won't Sleep...

This morning I typed the words 'Can I die of exhaustion?' into Google. In the interests of honesty, I'm not entirely sure which outcome I would have been most satisfied by. As it happens, Google's answer was basically 'We don't really know, but probably' and I think that actually provided me with some comfort.

My son was a great sleeper. He woke twice a night at most from day one and slept through most nights from about three months and boy, was I smug about it? I waxed lyrical about my superior sleep training and highly adaptable baby and felt little sympathy for those at the other end of the sleep scale. The parents who found themselves with a child that wouldn't rest had somehow brought it on themselves, I thought, and weren't trying hard enough to put things right. 

What. A. Dick.

I have done nothing differently with my second baby, yet she wakes almost hourly, screaming to be nursed and refusing to let me put her into her own bed. She then tosses and turns during her brief catnaps, kicking, hitting and scratching us to ensure that we get as little real sleep as possible. I have come to realise that my son's good sleeping habits had absolutely nothing to do with me and that karma can be a bloody cruel mistress.

Currently, my already poor sleeper is going through what I can only assume is her eight month sleep regression as she learns to crawl and I'm about a week deep in almost no sleep at all. Napping when she naps is out of the question when you have a two year old running about the place, trying to stick his fingers in plug sockets and other delights, and he dropped his daytime naps a long time ago, so I get by on a heady diet of caffeine and broken promises of early nights.

Last night I found myself desperate for a pre-nine pm bedtime, and actually Merryn did go down pretty well. Unfortunately, Blake decided that he did not want to go to bed and proceeded to scream so loudly that he woke her up, ensuring that she was overtired, ratty and one hundred per cent certain to not go back to sleep. I don't think I've ever felt anger at my son like it; I actually had to get in the car and drive away, leaving my poor husband juggling two screaming children and the vague feeling that his wife wasn't coming back. I did, of course, but I wished that I hadn't when three am rolled around and I found myself being used as a very pissed off dummy.

My alarm went off this morning to signal the start of the work day and I did a little bit of a cry, because I knew that yet another day laid ahead of juggling work, sleep deprivation and a baby that won't take a bottle (or a dummy now, apparently) and I just long for a day where I can catch up on a little R and R. Instead, I will have to tear from work to home to nurse her, negotiating inconvenient traffic lights and a lunchtime in which I barely get time to eat or drink anything myself.

I keep telling myself it's all temporary, which has long been my parenting mantra when things get tough, but I'm struggling to get the message through at the moment. Of course, I'm struggling to remember my own name right now too. I can't even really recall what the point of this post was. Sympathy, probably, but karma says that I don't even deserve that.

Bloody hell, I'm tired.