Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Updates

Man, what a weird day. Trev worked the night shift and Mac's middle-of-the-night wake up corresponded with his arrival home, so the entire family got to hang out (to the sound of a screaming infant) at three in the morning. He didn't sleep well last night and he didn't nap much today. He was cranky, to put it mildly. He's also nursed me dry.

Being the supermom that I am, I assumed it was a growth spurt, this so-called "cluster feeding". It took me all day to figure out that his poor bottom is the colour of a severe sunburn. So he got naked nap time and accordingly, he slept two hours straight. Screw it; I don't care if he pees and poops through every receiving blanket in this house. Baby Naked Time will be measured in hours, not minutes, from now on.

In other news, Kiwi-the-cat continues to run into walls. The mysterious laceration on his flank is all stitched up (did I tell you about that? I'm so tired, I can't remember what goes here and what goes on Facebook) and accordingly, he's confined to The Cone. There is nothing quite as pathetic as a cat wearing a cone. He falls asleep standing up because he can't figure out how to lie down with it. But every time I take it off (for the cat equivalent of naked time?), he goes after the stitches. And not just licking like the dog does, it's full-on biting and tearing. The stitches, they offend him!

By the way, if you're considering pet ownership, come to me. I'll show you our vet bills this year.

And in yet other news, I organized my study schedule for the fall and all I can say is... if it goes like today went, I might be screwed. There is so much material to cover, so much to memorize, especially for Anatomy / Physiology, and my brain is not exactly functioning at maximum power. This might have been a really, really bad idea.

So if posting gets sporadic, you'll know why.

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Saturday, August 22, 2009

PPD?

Lest you think I've got it all figured out, last night was horrible. Course, it wasn't him, really. I lost my nipple shield in the dark, popped him on the unprotected boob and suffered horrible vasospasms for the rest of the night. And he didn't go past sleeping two hours at a shot from the time I went to bed to, well, now - almost supper time the next day.

Some people have suggested I MIGHT have a dash of postpartum depression. Oh hell, it's possible. But I want to know how you tell the difference between full-blown PPD and just plain sleep deprivation? I think if anyone got 4-plus hours of straight sleep just three separate times over the span of a month and a half, wouldn't they could go a bit squirrely?

Yes, I'm moody. Yes, I experience highs and lows. No, I don't feel very well most of the time. Funny enough, each mood swing seems to correspond with times that I've had (minimal at best) sleep vs. not had much sleep at all. So yeah, I could pack Mac up and drag us down to a PPD support group (which I've heard is very good and valuable and helpful), or I could do my best just to get some more damn shut eye. Then see if I still suffer from depression.

I'm just saying.

Of course, I have been hiding in the bathtub for the last half hour. Maybe it's time to go rescue Trevor who is trying to juggle a fussy baby, dishes and making lunch.

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Monday, August 17, 2009

GiST

Mac didn't sleep much last night. Of course I'm wondering what part of the equation I got wrong this time, but I'm going to try not to obsess. Thinking about shyte begets more shyte, and I'm sick of being in the shyte.

So in non-sleep related news, here is today's Grace in Small Things:

1. Trev has a gig for September / October! And it's interesting! Yay universe!
2. The dog is healing up nicely.
3. Kiwi likes to hang out beside me in the mornings when I'm feeding Mac.
4. I'm digging the first few pages of Anatomy / Physiology.
5. It's sunny today.

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Saturday, August 15, 2009

Marital Conversations

WORKING: He's so much more lovable when I've had some sleep.
TREV: So are you.

* * *

MAC: (stirring from sleep)
TREV: He looks like he doesn't like where he is. Like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now. "Saigon. I'm still in fucking Saigon."

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GiST

Today's Grace in Small Things:

1. Sleep
2. Sleep
3. Sleep
4. Sleep
5. Sleep

I woke up completely astonished to see 2:55 AM on the clock. Mac slept from 10 PM to 3 AM last night, giving me five hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time since before I went into labour over a month ago.

I would love to say it's something we did but I'm smarter than that. It's the luck of the draw. There is no guarantee that tonight will go the same way. We have had some success in getting him to go back to sleep in the cradle. He fights it like mad, but he fought going to sleep in our arms, too. Seriously, he punches and kicks and screams and pinches and rips. It's always the same battle, we've just moved it to the crib. And he still falls asleep eventually.

I may not get another night like last night again, so I'm very grateful. It was a much appreciated treat and it does wonders for my state of mind.

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Thursday, August 13, 2009

How To Sleep?

I know this is now yet another mommy blog, and it's not even unique. But this space was always meant to serve as a record of my life, the only journal I keep, so I have to write honestly. And right now it's all about that 10 lb, fighting, sucking, feeding, farting poop machine currently trying to put himself to sleep upstairs.

Last night was torturous. He would fall asleep, sure, but he wouldn't stay asleep for longer than 20 minutes at a time. Of course, it was his first time spending the whole night in the cradle as opposed to sleeping with me. I also forgot to swaddle him properly and then I think I over swaddled him. I almost cooked him! And once I even turned on the light to feed him. New mom mistakes.

The worst stretch is 3AM to 7Am. I call it The Dark Hour(s). I get so tired and discouraged and borderline suicidal (not really, don't call the authorities. I'm just saying). I'm not a crier. I barely cry when people I love have died, and yet from 3-7 AM, I bawl. And last night when he started fussing and fighting sleep again, I actually yelled at him, told him exactly where he could go. Unfortunately my rage and subsequent guilt didn't help him sleep any longer, anyway.

So I'm witnessing another of my parenting ideals bite the dust (along with an all-natural labour and unassisted breastfeeding). I actually always thought I would co-sleep. It just hasn't been working. Co-sleeping simply meant he woke up just as much and I spent the night too scared to move a muscle. Irrational - he was in no danger - but who can be rational in their sleep? Not moving was killing my neck and back and I definitely wasn't getting quality rest even when he did sleep. Then he'd have a five hour nap all alone in the cradle, proving that he doesn't give a crap either way.

So it's the cradle for him. He's a newborn, so we'll still respond by picking him up whenever he cries, of course. But what we're not going to do is rock him to a dead sleep in our arms anymore or stick him on the boob to graze until he falls asleep. It's been killing us. Instead, we're going to try to get him all fed, calm and sleepy, then put him in the cradle and using just touch and a pacifier, sooth him all the way to sleep with just the rocking. If he cries, pick him up again and get him back to calm and sleepy, then back into the cradle where hopefully he puts himself to sleep with just our touch and a 'sucky'.

And, knock on wood, I think he's just kept himself asleep up there? In a couple hours, we might wake him up gently, give him a feed, some play time and go for a walk for some fresh air. Tonight around my bedtime, I'll feed him to within an inch of his life again, make him comfortable and cozy, pray to the saints and cross my fingers. Could we please, please get four hours in a row?

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Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Recovery

(large, wet farting sound)
TREV: Oh. Excuse me.
WORKING: Ha! I thought it was the baby!
TREV: Cool. I'm just going to blame it on him from now on.
WORKING: That's good. Because I never believed it was the dog before.

* * *

So my Reflexologist has a way of tuning me into a better reality. My mood has been steadily improving since seeing him weekly. The hormones seem to be stabilizing, and while I'm tired, I'm definitely coping better.

I had a weird night of burning, overful breasts and a puking, shitting dog. But the baby actually slept quite well. So this morning I woke up with Reflexologist's advice in my head; maybe it's time to enjoy this experience with little Mac before I miss it. Trevor and I are aware this could be our only child, so we better slow down and smell the roses. Or baby poop, as the case may be. And he's a cute little kid, changing every day.

We also cut a deal to help us cope better: Trevor gets a good night's sleep in the guest room while I take the entire shift with the baby (and apparently, the dog). Then, refreshed and rested, he takes over in the morning and I catch a few hours of blissful sleep alone, bed to myself, snoring to the hum of the air conditioner, before the next feeding. And I get another nap opportunity later in the day.

It works because 1. there's no need for both of us to be up at the same time at night, and I'm still breastfeeding exclusively and 2. while I can nap at the drop of a hat, and it's always a solid, restorative nap, Trev can't. He can only sleep at night. There's just no point to us both being exhausted during the day.

Besides, those couple of hours alone are more precious than gold to me right now, and the baby seems happier. Probably because I'm happier. This will only last until Trev goes back to work, but it will buy us some recuperation in the meantime. Dare I say that I'm almost... happy... right now?

(knock on wood)

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Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Ghosts

Every once in awhile my grandparents show up in my dreams. Well, two of them to be exact. Three out of four grandparents have died and these two like to visit. They make their appearance just before I wake up, that part of sleep that’s the hardest to remember. In fact, the more you try to remember it, the faster it slips away. Very frustrating.

The one I was perhaps least closest to, my dad’s dad, Grandpa Frank, comes most often. He’s always trying to say something. It’s just that I have a hard time hearing him and then remembering what he said. In fact, I’ve never remembered what he said. I just know he means to say it urgently.

Last night for the first time ever my mom’s mom, Grandma Eileen, came to me. I was annoyed because she did exactly what Grandpa Frank does; that is, interrupt the flow of a dream and drag me off to a different location completely to communicate something to me. My asleep brain wanted to stay with the dream, not follow Grandma Eileen around Victoria Park. And why Victoria Park? Is it the only Regina landmark she can remember? She didn’t come to Regina that often, so I guess it makes sense.

She didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked downright annoyed with me. The only thing I can think of is a blowout I recently had with my mom, her daughter. Well, too bad, Grandma Eileen. I am trapped by the emotions and rationality of a different reality than you. And it’s my life. I’m just glad she hasn’t figured out how to talk, yet. Then I’d really have it coming.

Okay, so say it’s just my psyche. The odd thing is that I wasn’t the favourite grandchild in any of these cases. In fact, I wasn’t close to any of them. Certainly not enough to be harbouring any unresolved feelings. They were just my grandparents. I never dreamed about them when they were alive. I loved them, they just didn’t feature that prominently in my life. I think most often of Granddad Peter in my waking life and he hasn’t shown up once.

So if this is all actually happening and not just my psyche, then here’s how I figure it happens: it takes practice for the dead to get into your conscious mind. Grandpa Frank is better at it because he’s been dead the longest. Then Grandma Eileen, who’s currently mastering Beginner Level and can only achieved facial expressions (and she's really good at them. I got 'annoyed' loud and clear). As I said, Granddad Peter hasn’t shown up – he died most recently. But I’m expecting him soon; he tended to be the most judgmental in real life. He probably has a lot to say to me.

And since I can't seem to talk to them in my dreams (my deficiency, I know), here's my message:

Grandparents, listen up. I know my child is currently dancing between worlds, so you probably have more access than even I do. I'm not raising it Catholic so don't even bother trying. But Grandpa Frank, feel free to tell it stories about boxing and California. Grandma Eileen, please download your Welshcake recipe onto it, or however it works, because it'd be cool if my kid were born with an idea of how to make them the way you used to.

Thank you. R.I.P 'n all,
Love, Working

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