I read a lot of mom blogs. Mommyblogs, if you insist. As soon as I figure out how to post a blogroll in my margin here on wordpress I’ll share some of them with you.
I also read cooking blogs, etiquette blogs, money management blogs, friends’ and acquaintances’ blogs, parenting blogs, writing blogs, fitness blogs and adventure blogs.
But I’ve got a lot of interest in Mom things these days. And there being a dearth of other moms in my neck of the woods, I get a lot of satisfaction of identifying – finally! – with another mother, albeit invisibly and digitally.
And I’ve noticed mom bloggers all have a few things in common: (At least the ones I admire do). Many have overcome some sort of hardship or tragedy (postpartum depression, miscarriage, death of a child, infertility, illness, etc.) They are all honest about the difficulties of parenting. And they all, at some point, bemoan their lack of sleep.
I’m sorry for the utterly unoriginal topic tonight, but Sylvia hasn’t slept a full night’s sleep in TWO MONTHS. She USED to be the perfect little angel child who slept 10 hours, and went back for more. These days, she’s up every four, three, two, hell, one and a half! hours.
She started sleeping through the night at three weeks old. And I remember thinking many times how not to get too comfortable. But three weeks became three months and she kept sleeping, right through until September 3. I haven’t had more than a four-hour stretch of sleep since.
I know by averages she is still sleeping more than many babies her age. But… but…. she won’t take a bottle, the only thing that consoles her at 2 a.m. is my milk. Thus, by extension: me.
It’s exhausting. Tiresome. Oh my goodness if I could only get some sleep!
But perhaps the worst nights of all are the nights like this one. I took my book to bed with me at after settling Sylvia in her crib. (The Wife’s Tale by Lori Lansens. Great book.) By 11 I was still reading. I tried to sleep, couldn’t, knocked over my bedside water glass reaching for the light, saw the time (11:49) and figured there’s no point even trying to sleep now because Sylvia’s only going to be up in an hour.
And now it’s 12:30. I’m properly tired, but held captive by the 18-pounds of sleeping baby in the next room. Why lull my body and brain into false rest knowing I’ll be called to tend to Sylvia at any moment? Or should I to back to bed with the hope – the same false hope I’ve had every night for the past two months – that this will be the night she resumes her 10-hour naps?