The Timeline of "Tired"

It's currently week 11 of Milo's middle-of-the-night munching. This is exactly four and a half weeks past the point that Ella decided to be an angel and sleep through the night. (Yes, I now painfully understand how lucky we were with her). At first, I was naive enough to think that putting him in the Woombie would work it's magic just like it did with his sister, but alas, we are still waking up at least once in the middle of the night. So I started thinking about this sleep-deprivation thing and I've decided that there's a certain progression down this oh-so-familiar path of fatigue. I think it goes something like this:

Weeks 1 and 2: Some might predict these to be the hardest weeks of adjustment, but surprisingly, these are some of the easier weeks to deal with because you're still riding that hormonal high (and sometimes hormonal VERY low) and you're simply caught up in the newness of your little ball of pudge. You look at your husband with googly eyes as you watch him make the transformation from husband to Daddy, or daddy times two (or three...). Life is sweet. You might even catch yourself saying, "Hey, this isn't so bad. I don't know what I was so worried about. I'm not that tired."

Week 3: this is the game-changer. Something happens in week 3, (or at least it did both times in my case): the newness wears off, the family that was hanging around to help (if you were so lucky) has vacated the premises and "real life" starts to sink in. It's 1:42 a.m. and you're up yet again with your hungry ball of pudge and two realizations hit you. 1) Your husband has a hidden talent you never knew existed in all your years of dating and marriage, which is that he could sleep through a tornado. Perhaps DEAF is a better term. At the same time you also realize that you are now equipped with an acute sense of hearing- one so sharp that you can actually hear the boogers rattling inside your baby's nostrils. You find this to be both alarming and annoying.

Week 4-5: Is it just your imagination, or is your darling little one a little less darling at 2:19 a.m.? You'll do anything to keep yourself awake because, as odd as it sounds, having the jaws of life attached to your boobs isn't enough. So you resort to checking facebook on your phone. What? No one else is posting at 2:30 in the morning? Only one new post? Lame. And then by 5:50 a.m., you're so tired that you hate your iPhone, you hate your leaking boobs, you hate your husband for not being able to lactate (and also for the simple fact that he looks so peaceful sleeping beside you) and you hate your child's incessant booger rattling/grunting/squeaking/farting.

Week 6: Hello, growth spurt. In other words, the 20 minute window of time you used to take a shower is practically non-existent. You might as well not even wear a shirt. When you go to your 6 week PP check-up, your OB asks you about birth control and first, you laugh. Who's having sex?? But then you tell him you'll take them ALL. The IUD, the depo provera shot, the pill- Just throw them all in a goody-bag and you'll be on your way. You can never be too sure.

Week 7-8: At this point, baby randomly throws in a 5 hour stretch of sleep here and there and you're so elated that you almost pee your pants in excitement. Suddenly, 4:30 doesn't seem so bad when you weren't already awake at 2. S/he looks cute again. Your husband's snoring doesn't seem to bother you as much. You think that maybe things are starting to take a turn toward normalcy.

Week 9: Yeah, right. SUCKA! You're back at square one again, and this time it stings that much more because you've had a taste of what semi-decent sleep feels like. You fight the urge to pick up the phone and call your mother to tell her you're sorry for all the shit you put her through and that you love her. She must have put the "I hope one day you have kids who act just like you do" curse on you. You think if this is any indication, the teenage years are going to be AWESOME.

Week 10: You figure out that whatever is left of your disposable income after buying diapers and wipes goes to coffee and under-eye concealer, in that exact order. And then wine.

Week 11: The sleep is getting better. Gradually more nights of 5-6 hour stretches, but not enough that you're willing to bank on anything. You've learned the hard way that these precious babes are notorious for making you think you have them figured out, only to throw a wrench (or teether, whatever) into the plans. So you do what can do to get by- only slightly aware of what day of the week it is, and you think it's already May, but who can be sure? You're confident that one day you'll look back, albeit with a much more well-rested perspective, and think it wasn't so bad.
(But then you can re-read this blog-post and be reminded that it only took 5 days to actually finish it because brain cells only function for so long with inadequate sleep).

Ah well, life goes on. ;-)

It's a Bug's Life

There are so many reasons why I love my girl. The first time I saw her and she bore holes into me with those big eyes, I knew I was in way over my head. The only person that's wrapped any tighter around her little finger is her daddy and rightly so. But aside from that unconditional, overwhelming "I would lay down in front of a semi for you" bond, I am also in awe of the little person she's becoming and she's constantly keeping her Daddy and me entertained with the many facets of her personality. So I thought I'd share a few things that make Ella our Bug :)

1. She's quick. And I don't mean the way she ran and tripped over her own two feet and busted her head open on the corner of our baseboard kind of quick. (Who knew so much blood could result from a 3/4 inch gash??) I mean that she thinks on her feet. (Well, most of the time anyway). She knows exactly what she wants and she goes for it. That box of cupcakes in the corner of the kitchen counter that I thought I had hidden sufficiently behind the mixing bowls? Nope. She already spotted them from across the room. And that "I love you, momma" hug that she just came up and gave me out of the clear blue? Puh-lease. It's not because she wants to cuddle. She wants a cupcake. And she specifically wants the only chocolate one that's left- the one I've had MY eye on. She obviously doesn't yet know the lengths I'm willing to go to to protect my chocolate...

2. She's no push-over. In fact, she's probably the one doing the pushing most of the time. It's no secret to any of our friends with kids her age that our Bug has a fiery temper. There have been umpteen scoldings and timeouts in the middle of playdates because, yet again, she's bonked someone on the top of the head or smacked them in the face or thrown her sippy cup/binky/Little People figurine down (much the way an enraged football coach takes his cap off and pummels it to the ground). And yet, I find it oddly reassuring that my daughter will never be a doormat. I'm just having a bit of a hard time explaining there are very few times in life when it truly IS okay to throw a right hook (thanks to Daddy for teaching her that one *ahem*) and being told that she cannot have more animal crackers isn't one of those times.

3. She's a feeler. Now, it may be too soon to know if she is a true F on the Meyers-Briggs test, but I'm gonna say that all signs point in that direction. If looks can say a thousand words, then, well, she'd be horrible at poker. As with most kids her age, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and it absolutely melts me. But, while she can be the most loving, empathetic creature- showering Milo, me, Jake or any of her friends with hugs and kisses- a mere 30 seconds later, upon being told that no, she can not watch any more Elmo, she can also emit a shriek that would grow hair on a tomato, deliver a vicious backhand, and then clear all of her Litte People off of the coffee table in one fell swoop of her forearm.

4. She sings. all. the. time. And of course, I would still love her just as much even if she wasn't constantly entertaining Jake and me with her antics on Jake's ukulele, belting out snippets of "Hey, Soul Sister" or "Heartbreak Warfare," or dancing around like a spider monkey on crack to her favorite band, Athlete. But I love that she owns the stage when she takes it. And I'm especially grateful that she hasn't gotten hooked on the Wee Sing Silly Songs collection or anything from Thomas the Train.

5. She's an awesome big sister. Obviously, she has her share of jealous moments and for some odd reason, has become very vocal lately about the breast pump: "No Momma? No, no pump milk?!". (I tell her that it's okay, it scares Daddy too). But she genuinely cares for her "Mi-yo," whether it's sticking his binky back in when it falls out, helping me cover him up at nap time, rocking him in his carseat when he starts to fuss or just leaning in to kiss him on the forehead for no apparent reason. Am I naive enough to think that will continue once he becomes mobile and wants to invade her personal space? No. She'll probably wipe the floor with him. But I also have no doubt that her "take no sh** from anyone" mentality will also make her Milo's greatest advocate and defender, should he ever need it. :)

6. She's this perfect combo of crunchy nature girl meets dress up queen. I know a lot of people will be shocked by this, but I love shoes and designer hand bags. I love to have reasons to get dressed up. I believe that walking out to the mailbox is definitely reason enough to wear lip-gloss and mascara. And I always joked that if I ever had a little girl, I would school her in all things artsy and fashionable. She might reject it and that's okay, but by golly, she's going to know the difference between a real Louis Vuitton and a knock off. However, I didn't always exhibit an affinity for these things. I was the girl running around barefoot in her yard, looking under rocks for lizards and worms and climbing trees- decorating my arms and legs with colorful bruises and scrapes. So it's no surprise that she loves being outside (really, what little kid doesn't?) but I must confess that it was a happy moment to watch her pull out my new platform wedges the other day and say, "ooooh pwetty, Momma." as she attempted to put them on. (That's my girl). ;)

7. She has a higher pain tolerance than I do. This is an extremely good thing, considering she emulates the Tasmanian devil on her more subdued days. As we were running through the park the other day, I could see it coming and thought perhaps putting her in shorts wasnt the smartest idea. Sure enough, she took a spill on the pavement and I stifled a small gasp, but before I could ask her if she was alright, she popped back up, exclaimed, "you okay??" (I guess she thinks this is what she's supposed to say whenever she trips and falls since she's heard us say it) and kept on running, blood oozing down her leg. And the blow to the back of the head that she took the other day which resulted in lots of blood left me clinging to the kitchen countertop to keep from passing out, but by the time she left for the ER with Jake, she was happily walking out to the car, picking up random rocks and chucking them across the yard. 40 minutes after that she was home with a couple of staples in her head and I was still trying to will myself to finish my lunch. Gross.

So those are just a few things that make my Bug the intriguing and nifty little girl she is. And it's an amazing trade-off: I get to teach her how to tie her shoes and count to ten, and in turn, she teaches me how to live in the moment. Play hard, love without inhibition, laugh at the little things, sing at the top of your lungs, cry when it hurts- but most importantly- always get back up and keep running. :)