girlfiend

Things are a little bit better. A combination of Motrin and teething tablets for the molar that’s coming in resulted in one really good night and two okay nights of sleep. Last night he was up at 4.30 but back to sleep by 5. It sucks that he’s waking, but at least it didn’t take too long to get him back down. We bought him a big boy bed to see if that helps at all. We’re hoping that at the very least it will eliminate the step of transferring him from glider to crib. I don’t know if he’ll sleep any longer or go down any easier, but it’s worth a try. I’m still tired and run down but I’m not quite as miserable.

The Fiendling’s been going through yet another fucking sleep regression where he won’t go to sleep and he wakes in the night and every time he falls asleep on me or Boyfiend he wakes up as soon as we try to put him down, either on the crib or on our bed. How does anyone ever have more than one kid? Seriously, this is awful. I know there’s an 18 month sleep regression, but he’s 19 and a half months old and the last sleep regression, the 16 month sleep regression no one told me about, lasted more than month.

For the past hour and a half I’ve been trying to get him to sleep and all I want to do is go back to Boyfiend’s birthday party, which was supposed to be a happy hour because I didn’t want to feel bad when I had to go at 8 to put the Fiendling to bed. I knew we couldn’t have a party here because of the stupid sleep thing, so Mix had it at his house and now everyone’s there having fun and I’m here listening to the Fiendling cry. He’s been asleep, snoring even, three times already.

On top of it, there are ants in my kitchen. We went to the pumpkin patch this morning for a hayride and lunch and I got rear-ended on the way home. The Fiendling fell asleep in the car but woke up as soon as the car stopped 25 minutes later and of course, because of this stupid 19 and half month sleep regression he wouldn’t go back to sleep. So I tried to make icing for the birthday cake (I’m not currently enjoying at the party) with a fussy, tired toddler climbing on the fucking window sills. I had chocolate and butter melting in the double boiler when he took off upstairs. I was too far gone to stop what I was doing so I had to wait about three minutes to finish stirring and take it off the heat. When I got upstairs he’d figured out how to unlatch the laptop and had ripped off three keys. One, the up arrow, is still missing. When I got downstairs I realized the kitchen sink was covered in ants. I think they’re coming in through the window.

I called Boyfiend because I was downstairs, didn’t want to go upstairs to get on the up arrow-less laptop to see if it was baking powder or baking soda that’s supposed to keep them out. I got an answer, baking soda, and poured it all over the cracks of the window, killed every ant in sight, washed my hands and the surfaces thoroughly and iced the cake which was a whole other nightmare with a still miserable tired kid.

Hours later, the ants are back in full force. The baking soda didn’t do shit. They’re everywhere. On the stove, in the sink, everywhere, and I’m so grossed out. Of course we don’t have any chemicals in the house because of the fucking environment and baby-proofing, but I did manage to find a small bit of Fantastik near the cat litter so I sprayed the shit out of every ant in sight, hoping any new ones would see their kin dying painfully in a puddle of all-purpose spray.

I suppose it’s time to try to get the Fiendling to sleep again. Wish me luck.

The Fiendling is seventeen months old today.

He’s getting more and more verbal at home but less and less verbal around other people. Newish words include ball, bird, pop, bubble, apple, baby, tired( ti ti), rabbit, boat, hop, boom,dog,banana (nana), pee pee and stomp. I’m sure I’m forgetting many of them, but these are the ones we hear pretty regularly. He also says diaper time (di ti) when it’s time for a change.

He lies on his back and lifts his legs so you can change his diaper which is a pleasant change from the poopy dashes across the room. He’s also gotten more agreeable with other daily tasks, like lifting his arms to take off his shirt and stepping into his pant legs. He likes to smear sunscreen around on us, while we apply it to him.

He scratches our backs when he’s asked and does a pretty good job, though he’s not quite able to move left or right or up and down. I’ll take what I can get.

He’s taken to wearing a hat, even indoors. I did the same thing when I was a toddler. But I took it a step further and refused to leave the house without a hat.

He loves babies, especially looking at the babies in books and pictures and identifying them as babies. He also recognizes the mama and dada in books and pictures. He loves looking at photo albums and pictures in flickr. He points to people he knows and says their names. He looks at pictures of himself and other babies and says “baby!” and sometimes leans in to give a kiss or says “mwah,” and moves his hand to blow a kiss. Looking at flickr pictures is the only time he’s content just to just sit and look instead of assaulting the laptop.

He no longer screams when he wakes up in the morning. Instead he calls for mama and dada and smiles when we get him. Nighttime wakeups are a different story. We’re in a nasty rough patch sleepwise. Every few days he wakes in the night crying and screaming. He doesn’t want to be held but doesn’t want to be put down. He clutches his water cup and insists he’s thirsty but won’t drink any and cries when it drops or we take it away. When I try to rock him to sleep, which he’s just too big for, he scratches and claws at me and pushes me away. When he finally gets comfortable and stops crying, the slightest noise or movement will bring on a fresh round of ear-shattering wails. He has trouble falling asleep as well, but it’s not nearly as painful as the night waking.

He prefers eating with a fork to a spoon, and lets us feed him more now than he ever did before. He’s surprised me by eating beets, chicken, a few bites of steak, balsamic glazed carrots and Frosted Mini Wheats. He still loves to feed us.

He likes to roughhouse, pushing us over and pulling us up. He laughs like crazy when we let him pull us around by our toes. He loves being chased and caught.

He proudly claps once when he completes a task like putting a toy away, a book on a shelf, or throwing something in a hole. He really enjoys throwing things, like rocks, shells and sticks.

He’s really begun following the movements in books and songs. He always sort of participated before, but now he’s more coordinated and gets the movements at the right time. He pats his head when the monkeys bump theirs, he opens and shuts the doors on the bus, and he plays pattycake pretty well.

Ring around the rosy is a favorite game right now, but he tends to jump the gun and fall down too soon. The next part, “The cows are in the meadow, eating buttercups. (rhythmically, bang the floor) Thunder and lightening (bang harder, like thunder) we all jump up!” is his favorite and he loves to pull me up to start the game again.

He sings Joshua Giraffe and it’s quite clear what he’s singing. He hums a few other tunes, but they’re unrecognizable. On our long ride home from the Outer Banks (Pigs- we stayed in Salvo) we put on the Kids Stuff station on Sirius and he clapped and sang for hours. Boyfiend and I weren’t quite as fond of the music, but whatever keeps him happy.

The Fiendling is definitely a toddler now. He has full on temper tantrums for no reason and wants to do things himself and gets frustrated when he can’t. But he’s so much fun I don’t care. I love the games and the roughhousing and I love the sweet kisses and the big, exuberant toddler hugs, even when he practically knocks me over. I enjoy spending time with him, which adds a whole new dimension to our relationship.

Smashing a castle at the beach

I didn’t sleep well last night. I fell asleep around 11.30, but it was a light sleep, the kind where you’re not quite sure if you’re thinking or dreaming. Then the Fiendling woke up at 1.30 and I went in to nurse him and fell asleep in the glider, not waking up until 3. I slept for real after that but he was up again at 6.30 for the day leaving me exhausted. By the time we left the playground around 1.30 this afternoon I just wanted to go to the Mexican place nearby for a veggie burger with cheese fajita style and a very large margarita. Instead I went home and made hummus and falafel, swept and mopped the kitchen floor, and weeded the front garden.
After his nap and a snack and after we picked up the first box from our farm share, the Fiendling helped me spin the salad greens for a bit. Out of nowhere he decided he was hungry and he became inconsolable. I wrestled him into his booster chair and offered him a variety of foods which he promptly rejected through his wails. Eventually he calmed down when the cheddar bunnies appeared. I opened the fridge to get him something real to eat and he thought he wanted everything he saw but really wanted nothing. For dinner he ate a handful of noodles with mixed veggies and tomato sauce. Then he threw what was left and indicated he wanted the noodles with mixed veggies with no tomato sauce. Then he threw that on the floor. He pointed to the falafel and was outraged when I told him I had to cook it first. He thought he wanted the red Thai curry but after a few bites of broccoli realized he didn’t. He made it through one and half strawberries before deciding they weren’t what he wanted. The falafel, once cooked, appeased him momentarily but soon joined the rest of the rejected food items on the floor. At this point I made myself a margarita.

Margarita in hand I gave him a bowl of baby food (Earth’s best plums, bananas and rice) and a spoon and he was happy. He ate most of it with his hands and cried for more. I tried to spoon more into the bowl but he just wanted the jar so I gave it to him and cleaned up a bit while he ate out of the tiny jar with his tiny hands. To buy some more time to finish my drink I gave him a chunk of carrot cake which he covered in baby food before eating. Eventually I cleaned up everything but the floor around him, cleared his tray of all projectiles, wiped him down, shook him out over the sink, and occupied him with his shape sorter while I cleaned the floor as best I could in the few minutes I had.

He’s now bathed and asleep and I’m showered and exhausted and instead of going to bed I’m writing this. Boyfiend’s still not home and I’m debating mixing another margarita. But I think I’ll just go to sleep.

The doctor suggested half a teaspoon of benadryl as a sleep aid with the warning that it does, on occasion, make kids a bit wired. The benadryl comes with a little cup, not a dropper, so I poured what I guessed to be half a teaspoon in the cup and sucked it up with the syringe we’ve been using to give the Fiendling motrin. He was on Boyfiend’s lap and when I squirted the medicine in his mouth most of it ended up on Boyfiend’s shirt. We decided to try again, using a smaller dropper. Because we weren’t sure if he’d actually swallowed any the first time we decided to give him 3/4 of the dose this time, about a dropper and half using the smaller one. He was still on Boyfiend’s lap and this time when I squirted it in his mouth it ran down the Fiendling’s face. Not knowing how much he’d gotten down we decided that this time we’d just give 1/4 of the dose. This time Boyfiend, still holding him, dosed him and managed to get all of it in his mouth. I don’t know how much he swallowed, whether it was more or less than the full dose, but he fell asleep around 9.30 and when Boyfiend woke up at 6.45 and made a move to go to the bathroom I told him not to move. We went back to sleep and the Fiendling didn’t wake up until 7.30. It was awesome.

It’s only ten in the morning and I’ve been eying my box of wine longingly since eight. The Fiendling woke up at four and couldn’t get comfortable enough to go back to sleep. I spent the five o’clock hour crying along with him. Now he’s napping and I can’t relax enough to sleep. I can’t remember the last time I felt this depressed.

Every time the Fiendling sneezes a strand of snot dangles from his nose like a pendulum, swinging back and forth until I wipe it with a tissue or until he smears it across his face where it sits, sticky, collecting lint and cat hair. When do babies learn how to blow their noses? There’s no point in getting dressed because anything I wear will have shiny smears all over it by the end of the day.

Last night was the first night in well over a week that I didn’t get any sleep and it sucked. I don’t know if it’s his cold or the fact that he’s getting closer and closer to full-on walking, but something woke the Fiendling up four hours after he went down and he couldn’t get back to sleep. Against my better judgment, knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep either way, I brought him into bed with us where he nursed on and off all night, crying and tearing at my shirt when the milk source wasn’t readily available. All morning he’s been doing the same thing- tugging at me and whining, wanting comfort when all I want is to be left alone. I just want to take a nap without little hands slapping and scratching at me. I feel guilty for feeling this way, but fuck, I’m exhausted and I’m sick of being pawed and sucked on, especially since I know he’s not hungry. But that makes me feel worse because he justs wants comfort and I don’t want to give it.

My bronchitis, after a lovely interlude, has returned. I’ve been taking cough medicine, but it doesn’t matter. The bronchitis has a mind of its own and based on my last two bouts of it I’m sure it will linger until the spring. It’s not even worth going to the doctor. They’ll just prescribe an antibiotic that won’t work and cough medicine with codeine that doesn’t help me sleep through the night.

I made Beef Bourguignonne for dinner last night. It was a three day project. The beef marinated for a day, cooked for a few hours the next, then sat overnight because all of the recipe reviews online said it was better the next day. It was good. I served it with roasted garlic Yukon Gold mashed potatoes and creamed spinach which I made because I had heavy cream leftover from something I made though I can’t remember what. The other day I made buttermilk fried chicken which was also good and buttermilk biscuits which were not so good. For some reason they didn’t rise the way they’re supposed to. I wonder if my baking soda is too old. The last several batches of chocolate chip cookies I’ve made have been pretty flat too. For Valentine’s day I made chocolate cake with a mocha frosting. I prefer yellow cake to chocolate, but I don’t have a good recipe for it. Boyfiend prefers chocolate cake anyway. I suppose I could just buy a box of yellow cake mix, but it’s been so long since I made something like that from a box it would feel like cheating.

Yesterday my mom gave me a pair of pants. She told me that she was giving them to me because I don’t have any nice clothes. I responded that her comment was insulting and I do have nice clothes. She said that she never sees me in them. I said yes, because I only ever see her on my way to the gym. She conceded my point and apologized.

This is going to be a very long day.

For the first time in more than a week the Fiendling is taking a nap someplace other than the car. Before he started napping in the car (I now keep books under the seat for when we’re parked with the car running in a lot somewhere) he would only nap on me. Yet he’s sleeping through the night again, at least for the time being. Feast or famine around here. Does this nap, on my bed, not in his crib of course, mean that he’ll be up all night? Only time will tell.

And in other news, I’m officially down to my pre-pregnancy weight. Perhaps it has something to do with that last bout of stomach flu, but the numbers are down, even when I’m wearing sweatpants and sneakers. So for all of you (all right, it was just one person, but I knew it was pointed at me) who made snide comments on your blogs about how stupid women who gain more than the recommended 25-30 pounds are and how they’re destined to never lose the weight, fuck off.

I’ve always given him the benefit of the doubt but I’m done now. It’s official. The Fiendling’s not a good sleeper. With only five weeks until his first birthday he’s still not even close to sleeping through the night. I know that I’ve said in the past that he was, more or less, sleeping through the night, but the experts who say six hours is “through the night” are lying because six hours just isn’t long enough, especially when the majority of the six hours are before eleven p.m. and the sleep that follows the six hours comes in one or two hour intervals.

Last night was a fluke. He slept for nine hours in a row and went back to sleep for another three. Once he slept for eleven hours straight. Where once I would have said that those extended stretches of sleep prove he’s a good sleeper who goes through rough patches, I now think it’s proof that he’s a terrible sleeper whose body occasionally gives in to exhaustion.

My son is happy and healthy. He has a great personality and he is a pleasure to spend time with. Developmentally he’s right on track if not advanced in some areas. He’s thoughtful and interested in the world around him and he’s learning how to communicate effectively. He’s utterly charming in almost every respect. But he’s a shitty sleeper and I’m done fooling myself about it.

Because I’m nothing but a broken record, last night? Not a good sleeping night. We (by we I mean I, because I’m not the one who has to go to work in the morning) got up with the Fiendling every hour from 2a.m until 9a.m. this morning when I finally decided sleep wasn’t happening so I may as well get up.

Things were looking promising. The night before he did sleep in his own bed and when he made the transition to ours he slept for four hours straight. Then he took a three hour nap yesterday. When I told Boyfiend he suggested that maybe the lack of sleep was catching up with him and he was going to start sleeping again. Yeah. Not so much.

He did sleep in his bed for about three hours before waking up shrieking. I rocked with him in the glider in his room until we both fell asleep. I woke up after maybe half an hour and put him back in his crib. Immediately upon hitting the mattress he begain screaming. Not whimpering, screaming. I went to the bathroom then returned to the still screaming baby and brought him into bed with us where I found Boyfiend semi-awake, presumably from the screaming.

The Fiendling falls back to sleep easily when he wakes, but he wakes so often it really takes a toll. I got two hours of uninterrupted sleep between 11.30 and 1.30.  Then 45 minutes to an hour of uninterrupted sleep at a time for the rest of the night. I could go to sleep when he does, but then I’d never get to hang out with my husband and  my stress level from the waiting to not sleep every night is so high already that I don’t even want to think about the wedge that would be driven between us if we didn’t get to sit together for an hour a night.

Boyfiend keeps asking what he can do to help and the truth is that he could get up with the Fiendling when he wakes and cuddle him back to sleep. But I know that if he were to get up with him every hour or two then work all day he’d be sleep deprived and miserable and he spends so much time already complaining about how tired he is from leaving the house at seven every morning that I don’t have the patience to ask him. Besides, I wake up when the Fiendling cries, sometimes before the Fiendling cries and Boyfiend can usually sleep right through it. So I’d have to actually wake him up to go the Fiendling and then I’d just be awake anyway. I guess it’s nice that he offers. I appreciate that he wants to help, but it’s pointless. At least he brings me a thermos of coffee every morning. I love that I never have to make my own coffee.

So yeah. Fiendling cute. Boyfiend thoughtful. Sleep bad. Coffee good. Teeth suck. The end.