Most nights, she sleeps. Most nights this is what you see at 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. Sure, she'll wake up now and then and grunt and flex until we feed her, but she never opens her eyes and always goes right back down. Most nights we hardly even remember her waking.Last night was not most nights.
I realize that in becoming a mom I have given up the pleasure of a good night's sleep for at least the next 18 years. Eventually darling C. will sleep through the night, but I'm sure I'll never really sleep soundly, listening for her cries and needs, or (later) for her soft step in the hall as she tries to sneak in or out of the house. For the most part, I think I have transitioned amazingly from a woman who thrives on 8 hours of sleep to one who can function on 3 or 4. I can somehow continue to pull myself out of bed, shower, dress myself (although the verdict's still out on how well I do that), pack the baby off to daycare, go to work and immerse myself it in all day before heading home to make dinner, give darling C. a bath, squeeze in a few small activities that almost resemble a life, put her down and hang out with Nate (we totally neglect each other now that we have a baby to contend with--our hanging out time is mostly just running around trying to pick up the house and fold all the damn laundry) all on a mere 4 hours of sleep.
That said, I'm not claiming to be a joy at all hours of the day and night in this altered state. Yes, I am functional, but I'm hardly the smart, engaged, loving and aware woman I strive to be. In fact, at 3 a.m., I am pretty miserable. I admit it. But who wouldn't be? There are lots of things that might be fun at 3 a.m., but walking the floors with a wailing baby just ain't one of them. I don't care who you are or what kind of supermom powers you have.
Which brings me to last night. Our demon child reared her little head again, replacing the angelic one we've enjoyed over night the last few months. In the calm, clear light of day, I imagine her behavior was because she is still feeling a little miserable while trying to kick out a few of those germs that have been plaguing her all week. Last night, however, as she kicked and squirmed and screamed, all while still appearing to be asleep, I couldn't help but think she was doing it on purpose. She went down OK and had a few good hours of sleep before she started this sleep screaming, but once she started, she just didn't want to stop. We walked, we hopped, we shushed, we rocked, we hugged and squeezed, we let her be, we tried everything! Nothing would get us more than an hour of calm sleep (at the most) before she would again begin the kicking and head-tossing, the arm-flailing, the moaning, the yelling, the furious dance.
Nate is amazing in the middle of the night, and I know I'm lucky to have a partner who considers it as much his responsibility to be awake with her as mine (I know other parents do not have this equity, and I am grateful grateful grateful). In the very beginning we realized it was stupid for both of us to be awake all night, so we developed a shift system that allows one of us to kind of be asleep while the other tends the babe. Last night, Nate had the first shift, and I slept as best as I could until about 2:30 when my conscience dragged me out of bed and I insisted on taking over. It's hard to wake up at 2:30 and do anything, much less rock a screaming baby and resist the urge to throw her out the window or sell her to gypsies just so you can get back to the cozy bed and good dreams you just left.
Another thing that's hard for me at that hour is any sort of pleasantry, especially for my darling husband. When I had a baby, my sister advised me that my relationship with Nate would completely change and that I would never love or hate anyone quite as much I could love or hate him as we parent together. I saw the wisdom of her advice from the very beginning--I absolutely melt with every tenderness I see Nate bestow on darling C. I hear him downstairs right now rocking out to Burning Spear with her, and it makes me love him just a little bit more than I ever could were we not parenting together. While this is true, so is the whole hating him part. I have no patience for him in the middle of the night when our kid is screaming. I can't explain it very well--it isn't because he sleeps while I pace and care for her (on the contrary, he's always willing to help out). It isn't because I want him to do everything and let me sleep in peace. I don't know what it is, exactly, but he just drives me crazy. I'm pretty sure it's not him--he doesn't fumble with the pacifier and drop it under the bed on purpose, for example--and I can't believe I can be such an incredible bitch. But it's there and it's real and it further frustrates a late night tantrum.
What's a mom to do? I can usually put myself in check with some deep breaths and a quick look at what an asshole I'm being. I can relax and focus entirely on Clementine, which can buy me a few minutes of silence and calm even on her fussiest nights. Hell, I can even hope that one of these days Nate will realize that I'm an irrational bear in the middle of the night and learn to avoid me (or at the very least ignore me--he takes things extra personally at the late hour, which only exacerbates the situation).
Until then, I'll nap. Not at home, of course, because darling C. is not any more eager to nap today than she was to sleep last night. No, I'll do a shift with her this morning and let Nate have some time alone and then I'll drive to an empty parking lot later this afternoon, put my seat back and have a little catnap. By tonight, maybe she will have worked it out and we can all get some sleep. Maybe not. Regardless, she's perfect and amazing even when she doesn't sleep, and I love her more than I ever thought possible. So, gypsies, I won't be selling her. At least not today.
Goodnight.
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