Well, who would have thought.
Otis was a dream baby whilst we were holidaying in Noosa for Ez and Brett's wedding. He slept for lengthy periods — day AND night — eased up a little on the clinginess, cried rarely, smiled and laughed often, and looked adorable in his newly appropriate summer clothing. I feel so relaxed and rejuvenated after such an easy few days away. I was dreading the experience, to be honest, but it was such a happy, stress-free time. Perhaps we should just move up there? I'd do almost anything to get my baby to sleep as well as he has been.
Luckily, it appears to be continuing now that we are back home. Last night he only woke up twice! I have been putting him down at night at 8 rather than 7, perhaps this is making the difference? I have also placed a pillow in his cot — yes, I know, totally irresponsible of me, but he's big boy now, in my opinion — and have returned his cosy sheepskin as well, so maybe he's simply more comfortable. All I know is, I would be miserable too if I had to sleep sans pillow.
He fell off my bed yesterday for the first time. It scared me silly, but he is absolutely fine. I heard the thud and felt sick... His arm was twisted underneath him, but, fortunately, his head had fallen on to a pillow, breaking the fall a little.
So, things are looking up! He's with his Nana at the moment, she has him Tuesday mornings so as to a) give me some real time out (which is usually spent doing housework, unfortunately) and b) bond with him a little better.
He's just started being able to move around a bit better. He's pulling himself up on things, and can shuffle along on his chest... Not quite commando crawling, but it's progress nonetheless. It really exhausts him, he literally groans with frustration and effort.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sleep, sleep, sleep...
Things have come to a head. For the past few days he has only slept for 30-45 minute spurts during the day, and is waking hourly for the first few hours in the evening, before coming in with me and sleeping reasonably well (not 'sleeping through', by any means, but giving me 3 hours of sleep at a time). So all day, I am getting about 3-4 hours break from him. That means he is pretty much hanging off me for 20 hours EVERY DAY. I don't remember ever signing up for attachment parenting! This is NOT what I want. I can't take it anymore.
My face is all blotchy and tired looking, my eyes all small and puffy, and my head aches from sobbing. I feel pulled between intense love, adoration for my boy — my boy who is happy and chatty and fun and beautiful, but who cannot, will not, sleep as he should — and serious, scary resentment. Why do other babies fall asleep in their cot of an evening and not wake again until the sun comes up? What are those mothers doing that I am not? Which move was it, exactly, that got us here? What the hell am I doing wrong?
I've tried innumerable approaches, none of which have worked for us. Mum believes controlled crying is the only way to fix this. But it is simply not an option for me. I am stuck, as they say, between a rock and a hard place.
I hate that, when I hear him waking and walk into his room to see his stunning, smiley, cheeky face, all I feel is frustration. I hate that so much.
My face is all blotchy and tired looking, my eyes all small and puffy, and my head aches from sobbing. I feel pulled between intense love, adoration for my boy — my boy who is happy and chatty and fun and beautiful, but who cannot, will not, sleep as he should — and serious, scary resentment. Why do other babies fall asleep in their cot of an evening and not wake again until the sun comes up? What are those mothers doing that I am not? Which move was it, exactly, that got us here? What the hell am I doing wrong?
I've tried innumerable approaches, none of which have worked for us. Mum believes controlled crying is the only way to fix this. But it is simply not an option for me. I am stuck, as they say, between a rock and a hard place.
I hate that, when I hear him waking and walk into his room to see his stunning, smiley, cheeky face, all I feel is frustration. I hate that so much.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Staving off PND
There. I've said it. For the past week and a bit I have been experiencing something that definitely resembles depression, but have been hesitant to label it that. But it's OK, I am OK. I am managing to hold it all together and keep my head above water. I was diagnosed with depression about 5 years ago, and was prescribed anti-depressants, and undertook Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT). The therapy was a real success, and I've implemented those strategies at numerous times in the past few years. What I learnt about the way I think has really changed me, for the better, and has allowed me to come through many stressful situations virtually unscathed.
I did the Depression Score online, and got 11, so I am just bordering on "Possible Depression". I am aware of it, and am doing everything I can to stop it from progressing any further — lots of positive, objective thinking, talking to people who are supportive, and taking time out from mothering, when I can. I think it's the combination of the hormones associated with ovulation (I've had two periods now), the tiredness (it's starting to wear me down), Oti's recent, OTT clingy behaviour (if I am in the room, I am the only one he wants!! — it was cute in the beginning), as well as the usual Gabby-related dramas... I've had a lot on my plate, emotionally. Oh yeah, the thesis too, how could I forget?!
I've been panicky, anxious, impatient — especially with Otis, which makes me so sad, irritable and flat. But the beautiful Spring sunshine and warmth, my son's toothy smile, and the support of my wonderful husband, my dear friends, my Mum and my sister, are helping to improve my mood. I am learning to value what I do each day, to take pride in the little things. It's not easy, though, to consider hanging out the washing an accomplishment, when I am used to measuring my worth in terms of publications and writing-related praise. I'll get there!
Update on Oti's progress:
— eats lumpy, mashed meals, plus large, soft pieces of bread and kiwifruit, and gobbles down Cheesesticks (the Bega ones are best)
— eats dessert (custard that I make using rice flour, caster sugar and cow's milk)
— sits, no problem
— says Dada, Mama, Baba and NO!
— enjoys playing with pots and pans
— starting, very, very slowly, to mobilise (Phil calls it the "wounded soldier crawl", and it only happens if we bait him with something shiny or colourful, like a fish to a lure)
— stands with the help of nearby inanimate objects
— plays games that involve anticipation
— has two teeth and knows how to use them!
— sleeps for at least an hour at a time during the day (yipppeeeeee), usually 2 x 1 1/2 hour sleeps per day
— charms the pants off every person he meets!!
I did the Depression Score online, and got 11, so I am just bordering on "Possible Depression". I am aware of it, and am doing everything I can to stop it from progressing any further — lots of positive, objective thinking, talking to people who are supportive, and taking time out from mothering, when I can. I think it's the combination of the hormones associated with ovulation (I've had two periods now), the tiredness (it's starting to wear me down), Oti's recent, OTT clingy behaviour (if I am in the room, I am the only one he wants!! — it was cute in the beginning), as well as the usual Gabby-related dramas... I've had a lot on my plate, emotionally. Oh yeah, the thesis too, how could I forget?!
I've been panicky, anxious, impatient — especially with Otis, which makes me so sad, irritable and flat. But the beautiful Spring sunshine and warmth, my son's toothy smile, and the support of my wonderful husband, my dear friends, my Mum and my sister, are helping to improve my mood. I am learning to value what I do each day, to take pride in the little things. It's not easy, though, to consider hanging out the washing an accomplishment, when I am used to measuring my worth in terms of publications and writing-related praise. I'll get there!
Update on Oti's progress:
— eats lumpy, mashed meals, plus large, soft pieces of bread and kiwifruit, and gobbles down Cheesesticks (the Bega ones are best)
— eats dessert (custard that I make using rice flour, caster sugar and cow's milk)
— sits, no problem
— says Dada, Mama, Baba and NO!
— enjoys playing with pots and pans
— starting, very, very slowly, to mobilise (Phil calls it the "wounded soldier crawl", and it only happens if we bait him with something shiny or colourful, like a fish to a lure)
— stands with the help of nearby inanimate objects
— plays games that involve anticipation
— has two teeth and knows how to use them!
— sleeps for at least an hour at a time during the day (yipppeeeeee), usually 2 x 1 1/2 hour sleeps per day
— charms the pants off every person he meets!!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Love and weakness...
So, the strategy... Easier said than bloody well done. That's my verdict!
The night started smoothly. I fed him and left him to self-settle, which he did without a sound. Amazing!! But when he woke at 10:30 for a feed — he was 'asleep', but crying, and seemed hungry — he was impossible to get back down. He screamed and screamed. Phil did his very best. But how do you go on when your baby is crying so forcefully and with such desperation that there are pools of tears in the crevices of his little ears? I couldn't do it. We couldn't do it.
I did manage to hold off with the feeds though. He's not having any milk between 10 and 5. That part seems to be working, and he IS waking less frequently. But he's still in with us, which I honestly do not mind one little bit. I just love his sleepy face, his milky breath on me all night, his body folded up against mine. It's heaven.
I am working on getting him to self-settle during the day, it's a battle. It's so frustrating! To think he could do this with hardly any fuss, only a month ago. Yesterday I had PMS, and was feeling oh-so-irritable... It really broke me. It's the control thing again. I canNOT control him. I can guide him, I can try to teach him, but he's an individual person, a very separate entity with his own ideas, his own plan.
I have decided to stop beating myself up about all this. Sleep is threatening to take over my life — not the act itself, but the the thinking about it, the planning and plotting and strategising. It's crazy! Who really cares?
I feel such immense love for him that I cannot bear to see him sad, the sound of his screams just pains me, it kills me. I keep telling myself to be strong, to be tough, but when it comes to my Otis I am the weakest of the weak.
The night started smoothly. I fed him and left him to self-settle, which he did without a sound. Amazing!! But when he woke at 10:30 for a feed — he was 'asleep', but crying, and seemed hungry — he was impossible to get back down. He screamed and screamed. Phil did his very best. But how do you go on when your baby is crying so forcefully and with such desperation that there are pools of tears in the crevices of his little ears? I couldn't do it. We couldn't do it.
I did manage to hold off with the feeds though. He's not having any milk between 10 and 5. That part seems to be working, and he IS waking less frequently. But he's still in with us, which I honestly do not mind one little bit. I just love his sleepy face, his milky breath on me all night, his body folded up against mine. It's heaven.
I am working on getting him to self-settle during the day, it's a battle. It's so frustrating! To think he could do this with hardly any fuss, only a month ago. Yesterday I had PMS, and was feeling oh-so-irritable... It really broke me. It's the control thing again. I canNOT control him. I can guide him, I can try to teach him, but he's an individual person, a very separate entity with his own ideas, his own plan.
I have decided to stop beating myself up about all this. Sleep is threatening to take over my life — not the act itself, but the the thinking about it, the planning and plotting and strategising. It's crazy! Who really cares?
I feel such immense love for him that I cannot bear to see him sad, the sound of his screams just pains me, it kills me. I keep telling myself to be strong, to be tough, but when it comes to my Otis I am the weakest of the weak.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
A new sleep strategy
After a week of excessively disrupted sleep, courtesy of my little, restless angel, I bundled him up in the pram and walked up to the Oatley ECHC yesterday. I gave the nurse a history of his sleep patterns, and the various tactics we've employed with mixed success. She was lovely — non-judgmental regarding the co-sleeping, direct and specific. This Friday night, I am NOT feeding him AT ALL overnight. I may give him one final feed at around 10, but I'll then pop him back in his cot, and Phil will re-settle him in the cot as many times as is required, until around 4 or so when I'll bring him in for the morning. No milk! He'll freak! But, as the nurse said, he's only feeding overnight because he knows no other way of calming and comforting himself.
When we re-settle him, we are NOT to pick him up or stay in there for more than a minute. We can let him cry for up to 5 minutes at a time, no longer. I can do that. I think...
I am petrified! But we have pre-emptive plans in place... I am going to give him a extra meal during the day, I am going to offer the breast every 90 minutes or so, all day long. I am going to stock up on Coke and DVDs to keep us awake, occupied and entertained. Phil is to do the settling so as to break the wake=feed association. The poor man will be so tired the next day, as he isn't used to having the erratic sleep that I am so accustomed to.
Stay tuned! I am hoping for results within days.
When we re-settle him, we are NOT to pick him up or stay in there for more than a minute. We can let him cry for up to 5 minutes at a time, no longer. I can do that. I think...
I am petrified! But we have pre-emptive plans in place... I am going to give him a extra meal during the day, I am going to offer the breast every 90 minutes or so, all day long. I am going to stock up on Coke and DVDs to keep us awake, occupied and entertained. Phil is to do the settling so as to break the wake=feed association. The poor man will be so tired the next day, as he isn't used to having the erratic sleep that I am so accustomed to.
Stay tuned! I am hoping for results within days.
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Time Traveler's Wife
This excerpt is such a wonderful, real account of how it feels to long for a baby. I remember feeling just like this, it was a feeling that ate me up, that enveloped me. Nothing else mattered apart from conceiving that baby, my baby, the baby who ended up being Otis. Perhaps there are other, better, passages about this same thing, but this is the one I noticed, the one that spoke to me in my post-longing, post-conception, post-pregnancy, post-baby life:
"I was simply not thinking about a lot of important stuff because I was completely drunk with the notion of having a baby: a baby that looked sort of like Henry, black hair and those intense eyes and maybe very pale like me and smelled like milk and talcum powder and skin, a sort of dumpling baby, gurgling and laughing at everyday stuff, a monkey baby, a small cooing sort of baby. I would dream about babies...
I suddenly began to see babies everywhere; a sneezing red-haired girl in a sunbonnet at the A&P, a tiny staring Chinese boy, son of the owners in the Golden Wok (home of wonderful vegetarian egg rolls); a sleeping, almost bald baby at a Batman movie. In a fitting room at JCPenney a very trusting woman actually let me hold her three-month old daughter; it was all I could do to continue sitting in that pink-beige vinyl chair and not spring up and run madly away hugging that tiny soft being to my breasts.
My body wanted a baby. I felt empty and I wanted to be full. I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always. And I wanted Henry to be in this child, so that when he was gone he wouldn't be entirely gone..."
"I was simply not thinking about a lot of important stuff because I was completely drunk with the notion of having a baby: a baby that looked sort of like Henry, black hair and those intense eyes and maybe very pale like me and smelled like milk and talcum powder and skin, a sort of dumpling baby, gurgling and laughing at everyday stuff, a monkey baby, a small cooing sort of baby. I would dream about babies...
I suddenly began to see babies everywhere; a sneezing red-haired girl in a sunbonnet at the A&P, a tiny staring Chinese boy, son of the owners in the Golden Wok (home of wonderful vegetarian egg rolls); a sleeping, almost bald baby at a Batman movie. In a fitting room at JCPenney a very trusting woman actually let me hold her three-month old daughter; it was all I could do to continue sitting in that pink-beige vinyl chair and not spring up and run madly away hugging that tiny soft being to my breasts.
My body wanted a baby. I felt empty and I wanted to be full. I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always. And I wanted Henry to be in this child, so that when he was gone he wouldn't be entirely gone..."
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