Not My Finest Moment

Tate and I have had a rough 3 nights.  Starting with that hideous time change on Saturday night. I remember the days I was thrilled with the fact that we were going to 'fall back' and I was going to get a glorious extra hour of sleep!  I love to sleep.  I love to sleep in.  I love sleeping clothes.  I love sleeping beds.  I love sleeping in a warm comforter on cold day.  I love everything about sleeping.


And I have a child who could care less about sleeping.  From the moment he was born he has not been all that interested in sleep.  Worse, or actually I guess better he's completely fine functioning on much less sleep than the average baby/toddler 'needs.'  I spent months so frustrated by his lack of sleep needs until I finally realized that (a) I could not control how much he slept (b) Worrying and fretting about the fact that he wasn't sleeping 'enough' was doing me in.  I was already so sleep deprived and emotionally spent, then I worried myself even sicker because he didn't sleep the 'required' amounts. (c) He was happy with the amount of sleep he was getting.  He never had meltdowns, we have yet to have the toddler witch hour (probably because I pay very close attention to his sleep cues, and I do value his sleep very much, so I'm very protective of it because what he needs, he NEEDS).


So, back to the time change.  Saturday night I put him down 30 minutes later praying, hoping he would sleep a little later because Tate is nothing if not predictable.  He stirs almost every single night around 430am, fusses and goes back to sleep and then he wakes around 530/545 ready and thrilled to start his day.  Every. Single. Day.  Weekends included.  I knew my chances were slim, but I thought if I don't try I'll never know.


He was up at 4:23am Sunday morning, happy as a clam because to him it was almost 530!  Time to start the day.  I brought him into bed with me, and tried my best to get him to sleep more to no avail.  He played around, jumped up and down, grabbed books and read them. Finally, I gave in a t 5:19 and got up.


He took a short nap that day as well which made no sense.  Sunday night we stayed the night at my parents' which always is hard for him. Sleeping outside of his crib in our room is hard for him.  But we've stayed at my parents' more times than I can count, and for the first 8 months of his life we stayed there every 2 weeks, a week at a time.  I don't get it.  So, Sunday night he was up and down fussing off and on every 2 hours or so, in the bed with me, in the crib...it didn't matter.  Finally around 230 I just put him back in the crib and let him fuss to himself until I was ready to wake up at 545 which he did every couple of hours, and was awake it seems fully at 5am.


And then there was last night or should I say this morning.  I slept downstairs because I needed some 'real' sleep as much 'real' sleep as you can get with a monitor beside you and also wondering if my being out of our room would encourage him to go back to sleep if/when he woke at 430.  But at 338 he woke up screaming.  I went up the 2 flights of stairs and he was really sad and upset....very unlike him.  I put him in bed with me, and he tossed and turned.  Around 414  he decided it was time to get up, and I was not happy.  I hissed to him 'LAY DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT YOUNG MAN, IT'S STILL NIGHT NIGHT TIME'.  Oh the face of absolute sadness he gave me with the hiccuping sounds of a 2 year old trying not to cry.  Broke my heart, but I turned over to try to get a little more sleep.  He laid down hiccuping and last about 15 minutes before popping up again. I turned over and laid him down holding him in my arms again insisting it was still 'night night time.'  Quiet for about 15 more minutes, then he was up trying to crawl over me to go read his books.  I had had it and picked him up and put him back in the crib saying 'Night night'.  I laid back down and not 5 minutes later I hear him whining and fussing.   I sat up and yelled and I mean yelled 'WHAT DO YOU WANT TATE?  WHAT?'  He startled, started crying and immediately sat down, then laid down.  I felt awful.  Just so very awful, but I was very near tears myself; I was just exhausted. I had gone to bed last night at 11 trying to clean the house up way too late.  I'm frustrated and worried about my weight which just spirals even more out of control when I am so very tired. And I had had it.  There is noone, noone to give me a break here.  It's all on me and it's just about to do me in.  I just laid back down and felt like the worst mother on the earth.  Just awful.





But we got up, and he was happy and hugging me.  He wanted to sit in my lap and have stories read.  He ate breakfast with no fussing and happily went into daycare and kissed me good-bye. This evening at pick-up he was his always happy self.  Of course he was happy ... he got a 90 minute nap today.  He's rested.  Me I was a zombie at work.


So, definitely not my finest moment in my 2 years and 3 months of parenting sweet Tate.  Though I rarely get that upset, I intend to do my best to make it the last time.  I don't want to see Tate so hurt if I can help it.  And I can help this.  So, tonight I'm off to bed early to give my body some much needed down time and give myself a chance to get some sleep on the front end as Tate's body adjusts to the new time.  I know he will, I hope he will.  He will won't he?