Sep

24

Kappa Babble Upchuck

Thank you for the ideas/commiseration on Dylan’s sleep issues. Sometimes it’s just immensely helpful to hear “oh my god, my kid does that too, and it SUCKS”, you know? JB reads my comments too, and I think we both breathe a giant sigh of relief when we learn that whatever parental challenge we’re struggling with is not unusual and that other people are in the same boat and we’re all frantically bailing water while looking for the goddamned hole.

Dylan slept through the night last night but woke up, as usual, way before any normal human would choose to start their day, so I went and brought him to bed with us. This always seems like a good idea, and at first he’s a dream. He snuggles belly to belly on top of one of us, usually JB, and all is cozy and comfortable and warm and loving, until out of nowhere he jerks his head upright and brightly announces, “HORSE!” Then he’s off and running:

“Horse! Neiggggh. Cow. Cow. Moooo! DUCK. DUCK. DUCK. Donkeys. DONKEYS! Sheep.”

(Despite how I make him sound he doesn’t actually communicate exclusively via farm-speak, but it sure seems to be a conversation starter for him. I can imagine him at a toddler cocktail party, wearing a wee little bowtie and accepting a sippy cup from a passing waiter, then turning to his companion and chirping, “So . . . HORSE?”)

Once he gets started with the Naming of the Animals, all is lost; he’s all over the bed and joyously sticking his grimy little fingers deep into our eyesockets. At that point Riley usually comes padding out of his bedroom and climbs up and we endure maybe 5 more minutes of total physical chaos before the blankets are on the floor, both kids are crying about something, and JB and I are bolting for the coffeemaker.

I’ve never particularly wanted to co-sleep past the newborn stage, but then again I’ve never really had the opportunity to give it a try. Both boys have always acted like they regard our bed as a thinly disguised ball pit, even in the dead of night. I think I remember one time when Riley slept with me when he was little and sickly and JB was out of town, but I woke up at the exact moment he was happily starting to roll off the edge of the mattress, and hoo boy. Never again.

I was thinking how our mornings seem extra crazy lately—starting with the Great Family Bed Fail and moving immediately into the breakfast madness which involves Riley acting sullen and grumpy until the first Honey Nut Cheerio hits his system and Dylan saying “Waffle? Waffle? Waffle? Waffle? Waffle? Cook? Cook? Cook? Cook? Cook? Hot? Hot? Hot? Hot? Hot? Hot? WAFFLE? WAFFLE? WAFFLE?” until I think I’m going to go slap out of my damn mind at which point Riley inevitably sighs with great put-upon drama and wonders out loud why no one got him anything to drink—but the truth is, EVERYTHING is crazy. Mornings, afternoons, dinners, naptimes, bedtimes, it’s all shouting galloping couch-jumping shrieking open-mouthed-chewing craziness all the time, and while I obviously wouldn’t trade it for the world I think it’s one of those parenthood truths you really cannot imagine until you’re in it: the peace and quiet in your life is going to go away. Altogether. Except maybe between the hours of their bedtime and yours, which you will come to defend like a starving buzzard hunkered over a flattened, steaming chunk of roadkill.

Such is life with kids, though. It’s loud and there are many bodily substances. It’s basically like belonging to a fraternity, where your roommates spend their time hazing you, barfing, and screwing with your sleep. It’s steeped in ritual and there are songs. Also, you will forever have something in common with your fellow members, which is one of the things that makes it all survivable.

Well, that, and . . . you know. The children.

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Sep

23

Same as it ever was

I had a hard time falling asleep last night, thanks to a lingering mental image of our bedroom door sloowwwwwwwwwwly creaking open and a mysterious Shape creeping towards us underneath the covers (stupid Paranormal Activity trailer), and when I finally did drop off I found myself ensconced in a dream where I was carefully applying lipstick while peering at myself in a mirror. I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t a sweaty nightmare featuring supernatural attacks or that one deal where you’re naked and you forgot your homework, but still: lipstick? Really? You go off-leash and that’s the best you can do, brain?

Before I could even move on to a different, equally gripping scenario involving, I don’t know, undereye concealer or something, I was jolted awake by an unearthly howling coming from the hallway. I lay there for a minute staring into the dark while JB snored peacefully and obliviously beside me, thinking how I should NEVER have watched that goddamn movie preview because NOW look what’s happened, we’re being haunted, probably by the shambling, rotted occupants of the Indian burial ground our house had unknowingly been built upon.

A moment later the noise resolved itself: Dylan, blatting from his crib. Again. This marks the second or third week he’s been going off like a misguided rooster in the dead of night, and people, I don’t know what to do about it. I’m frustrated with the situation, mostly because I guess I truly believed sleep training was a one-time deal. Like, sure, there might be setbacks now and then, but not a total regression, right? WRONG.

The idea that we might have to do sleep training again makes me want to curl up in a ball and wait for the ghosts to eat my face off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we did it, it worked, I recommend it for anyone who’s losing their shit because of sleep deprivation, but oh my god please don’t send me back to the bad place. That was a phenomenally unpleasant bitch of a task and if it didn’t stick, well, I think that is colossally unfair and the parenting gods need to bend over and take one up the old poop-chute for designing certain children to be both sleep-resistant AND a picky-ass eater AND . . . well, adorable, but STILL.

Have any of you had to deal with sleep setbacks during toddlerhood (context: Dylan is 19 months)? What did you do? Go in and comfort until it resolves itself, even if that takes until high school, or haul the big guns out again?

PS: I think I’ve ruled out teething and temperature-related discomforts, although the jury’s out on whether or not he’s having upsetting dreams about lipstick or being naked.

PPS: He’s also going to bed later and waking up earlier. So maybe this is all part of his master plan to slowly kill us off so he can finally eat all the dog hair he wants?

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