Monday, October 15, 2018

The Reality of a Baby That Won't Sleep

1 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
I do want to blog more.
But life is a touch insane right now.

Baby X has a real problem with this one little, teensy thing we do sometimes. You may have heard of it? It's called sleep. I think, anyway. I haven't really experienced it for months so I'm pretty sure that's what it's called. I think you pronounce it "slay-eep", but again, sort of a vague concept at this point.

Little dude is amazing. So goddamn cute, seriously. If I didn't respect his whole and complete embarrassment of being associated with me in his older age, I'd be plastering his adorable mug all over this blog. You betchur ass I would.

Anyway, he's a gem, but he F*CKING HATES SLEEP, unless he is attached to me via my nipple, and even then the naps are sporadic, short, and I usually can't indulge because
A) he's attached to me,
B) I'm terrified of smothering him,
C) I'm worried I'm going to miss school pick up or not hear my alarm or (fill in the blank with any scenario an anxious person could worry about, and
D) if I AM able to relax, I generally start to drift off just as he wakes up.

I am not emotionally able to do sleep training, at least for now, but every single other adult I ever utter the word "tired" to has informed me that I'm foolish and that it is my only option. Not there yet. Whenever he cries for more than a little bit (think seconds, maybe a minute), it makes me feel physically ill. If he's just whining a bit and I HAVE TO do something else, I can tolerate it, but he tends to panic/hysterical cry once it's dark out/bedtime/in his room and I just can't stomach it.

So, for now, I am the master of my own misery. Unless the Hubs can start to lactate, I'm in a bit of a baby prison. A very cute, adorable, snuggle-bug baby prison. It could be worse. I'm just so so sleepy.

SO, I think somewhere deep down inside of me I am capable or blogging again. I do enjoy it. I just never have any time. But I will get back to it. When he doesn't cry if I am more than one foot away from him. So... by 15 or 16... years?


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