Thursday, June 01, 2006

part deux

Yesterday was better. He napped twice, and then when he looked tired later in the day, I stuffed him into his hug-a-bub and took him to the store where he caught a few zeds on the fly. Then to turn things upside down, he was a bear to put to sleep at night. Probably because he was overtired from the nap-on-the-run. Still, the other naps weren't fucking hell, though I did the patting/shushing routine again because I can't handle the screaming. Thing is, the patting/shushing is so boring and I'm always scared the patting is gonna turn into a wallop because as I pat, he fusses and that fussing irritates me so much, which is why I want another solution. One that removes me from the situation and keeps my baby safe. Then again, I also want a solution that doesn't leave him alone and lonely and leave me feeling like shit. :( It's not even like the pat/shush routine goes on forever either, it's that I have no patience. Then again (lookit me, I'm my own devil's advocate) the pat/shush crap can go for an entire sleep cycle. Hmm. I could justify myself by saying that maybe my stress levels are more tweaked than I realise by this 24 hour duty, lone parent gig, but that'd be a cop out because I'm probably just a horrible person. I mean, listen to me. I'm an abusive mother on the inside, even if I haven't actually thwacked him yet. *heavy sigh*

If he cries though, its a different thing. Like when he cried the other day when he wee'd on himself while being cleaned up after a poo crisis and ended up lying in a pool of poopy wee. That kind of helpless woe breaks my heart and I have to cuddle him up and make it better, which I did as soon as I'd dunked him under the shower and washed off the debris. Crying and fussing are polar opposites in my little book of parenting rulz. Crying I can handle, need to handle even, but the fussing? Tips me over to the dark side.

It's funny, though not in a hardihar kind of way, the distinction between what winds me up and what doesn't filter through the cottonwool in my ears that is motherhood because as I write this, Daniel is rolling around on the floor next to me shrieking and squealing and getting a real kick out of his new-found vocal range, and the cacophony is barely registering with me. It's certainly not stressing me out.

I worry so much about doing the wrong thing because crying it out seems like it's the easy option when what I shopuld be doing is examining the minutiae of his pre nap environment so I can sort out a peaceful, fairy tale solution. I didn't admit to it yesterday but that day when he didn't sleep? I left that little shrieking innocent alone in his bed for his forty five minute shit fits because I thought, if he doesn't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna throw him out the window, and I didn't admit to it, any of it, because I'm ashamed. :(

Logically, I know crying it out is NOT the easy option because Oh. My. God. Listening to your baby cry piteously for ever is NOT easy.

He's such an easy baby in every other way. I should give him this with grace, yannow? I mean, seriously, even when he's exhausted, he's not grizzly. Granted, he looks like a little ghoul, what with the pale skin and the huge bags under his eyes, but he'll still crack a smile and not be an annoying little fuck. On the one hand, I'm thinking ridiculous thoughts like '"Look shithead, you have an easy life. Every one of your needs are met, and I have only two, and they're not being met, so how about meeting one of mine? I need you to stop being an asshat and I need you to go to sleep. Pick one and make your mama's day", and on the other I'm all "Err, aibs? You're bargaining with a baby".


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