Falling Behind

Seventeen days into the new year and I have already failed with resolution 10 (write in blog), mostly because I am failing miserably at resolution 8 (go to bed early). [For the record, though, I am doing an excellent job with resolution 7 (Starbucks guilt is gone).] In my defense, the baby is either part vampire (definitely possible on my father's side), an alien life form that doesn't require sleep (ditto) or he just doesn't like me very much.

Last night, for example, I dutifully restrained myself from watching American Idol, not that big a burden yet as I don't care for the try-outs, cleaned the kitchen and climbed into bed at 9:00 p.m. Baby had been sleeping blissfully in that cute baby surrender pose, hands stretched above his head, for two hours. Granted he was in the middle of our bed where I had nursed him to sleep at seven, but he was out. Attempts to move him to his crib or really any other local for sleeping in the last few weeks have ended in sad parental defeat and screaming baby triumph. The moment I climbed in, he stirred, stretched languorously and rolled toward me with little sucker lips already going. Perhaps he is Irish because he feels the need for a little nip every 60-90 minutes through out the night and woe be it to the shirt or mother that stands in his way. I tried ignoring him for about 30 minutes and he pecked my back in aggressive outrage until I gave in. I wasn't sleeping anyway because who can sleep, really, with the world's smallest vampire pecking your back?

I know this is a common problem. I've read about parents who make the "mistake" of on-demand feeding and create little monsters (vampires?) who can't self-soothe and insist on nursing every time their eyes flutter. I avoided this with Gee via the simple miracle that he did not ask to nurse. He pretty much slept through the night from six weeks. Now here I am, tired, pecked, and for the most part stuck because I am unwilling (although absolutely not judgmental of others, rather jealous) to let my five-month old cry it out. At nine months, it will be a different story, but for now, he wins.

I blame HSSH. I do. It makes sense at 3:00 a.m. after the fifth feeding, I swear. You see, he is good at fixing things and as a result we bought a beautiful, but old and uninsulated, 1920s house, which we have slowly gutted and made our own. I absolutely love it and would never move, even for more sleep, but I would never have lived in such a challenging house without him. And, it's cold at night. And, the baby wakes up with cold hands. I'm convinced that's why he doesn't sleep as well as Gee. Hence, HSSH's fault. Perfectly logical.

Recently, I read about how sleep deprivation shortens your life span. As, I am sure, do red wine, chocolate and chai tea obsessions. I don't know if I am losing years off the back end because of sleep loss, but I am certainly able to justify many other life-limiting habits when I am tired. For example, junk food. Coming home from gymnastics at the YMCA last night, I could think of many, many rational justifications for feeding myself and my two-year-olds hamburgers and french fries for dinner, including that I was too tired to think of anything else. What obesity crisis??

First, I have to say that toddler gymnastics is really cute, Ess and Gee have been basically cooperative and Cue has so far been an angel. I have now just jinxed myself and next weeks' class will be a complete disaster involving a screaming baby and several toddler meltdowns. But, given the exhausting process of getting all three of them into and out of any place, dinner fell through the cracks. I stopped for burgers, put my big, delicious bag of junk on the front seat and promptly had to slam on the brakes when I barely noticed a stop sign in time for the requisite stop. I watched in sad slow motion as the bag flew from the front seat and landed upside down on the floor, spilling french fries and nuggets into the mess of trash and wet shoe junk. I then had to take a moment to mourn. I then had to take several moments to scoop it all back into the bag. I freely admit that it took me no time at all to get over it and when we got home I happily fed them fuzz covered french fries and nuggets. I did feel a little guilt that my burger was spared by the wrapping. They found it lip smacking good, fuzz and all, but recall that Gee will eat other children's cookie crumbs off of public floors and I caught the tail-end of Ess eating something unidentified off the floor of the Y gym as we left. So, let's just say their discriminating taste is still under development.

Now, I should say good night. It's after 9, the vampire temporarily sleeps and, ironically, I am wasting precious sleep time complaining about being tired!