Single Motherhood Stinks
It’d been so long since we’d had some sleeping-through-the-night action on the Ilse-front, that I had forgotten the cardinal rule: Do not state such occurrences publicly or you will live to regret it. I posted my last post a bit before 10. Ilse woke up at 10:30, after I had been in bed just long enough to begin drifting off. Nurse — rock — both of us back to bed. 11:15 — repeat.
Somewhere in these interludes I recalled that she didn’t really finish her last bottle, as she had been working on it as I started getting the boys ready for bed. The awkwardness of cradling a baby while staying at an angle to keep the bottle properly propped while putting pajama shirts on boys was too much for me, and holding her own bottle was too much for Ilse. Everybody lost in that situation, and in the end, I left the bottle with its last once in the bedroom.
And if Ilse is going to wake up, what time will she wake up? Yes, of course, 3am. There is something magical about 3am for us both. So, I stumble out of bed and by her pathetic, weak, “I am starving here, Mom!” cries, I figure I had better locate that bottle. It is not where Ilse had been and it is not within my arm’s reach from where I had been sitting while getting jammies on the boys. Maybe I stuck it in the hall closet. Maybe I did bring it into Ilse’s room, since changing her diaper was next on the list after jammies. Nope, and now we have a mad baby. Maybe it’s in the bathroom? Under anything? Nope, and now we have a raging baby. I pick her up and she immediately clings to me as though she would have been eaten by ravenous wolves and I had saved her in the nick of time.
We troop downstairs. Wow, I must have actually done the right thing without even thinking about it and brought the bottle down to the sink! Um, no. So, back upstairs, this time with a babe in arms, this time with the hall light on. Look in the boys’ room. “Mom,” creeks Jaeger, “You woke us up. There’s too much light.” “MMmmm, hmm…I’m looking for Ilse’s bottle….sorry…..” Still not in any of the places it should be. Double check Ilse’s room, closet, bathroom….it has got to be in the boys’ bedroom. “Mommm….you should not wake us up.” “Sorry, just keep sleeping….” Aha! On the floor at the other end of Jaeger’s crib — on the opposite side of the room where I had never been. Wonder how it could have gotten there? Uh-huh. And empty. They probably won’t be covetous of Ilse’s milk anymore. “Mommm….”
This time I look at him as I respond, but my response sticks in my throat. It’s 3:20, the hall light is on, the kitchen light is on, I have already conducted frantic searches, and I have a starving — though at least now silent — baby in my arms. And then I notice Jaeger. Was it a good thing I had to go into their room with the light on? Jaeger’s diaper was around his knees and his sheets were not only wet — they were dirty. And he was dirty. And it was all gross. And I still had a baby wanting to eat. “Do not move!” I charged him as I went to fix Ilse’s bottle.
Ilse got her 6-ounces in bed propped up by her pink elephant, and I went to tackle the Jaeger. First, a wipe. Um, this has been here a while and will not bend with the remover to remove. Thank goodness, it was not yet an ever-fixed mark, but it did take 5 minutes in a warm shower. While Jaeger soaked, I changed his sheets. I glanced over at Hans, who hadn’t moved, but now had his eyes partly open, blandly taking in the scene. If Matt were home, that would be me, right there. I would probably get up to change the sheets once I heard the shower going…oh, no, actually, I would be feeding a baby in a rocking chair, actually.
Clean sheets — check. Clean Jaeger — after work and grimaces and whining — check. Dry. Diaper. Bed. Shut the door.
The good thing about this all happening at 3am is that I didn’t have enough energy to through a fit myself.
Then I remembered to check the baby, and she had finished her bottle and was sitting up in bed, ready to flash me a big grin. She obviously thought she’d just had her breakfast. Diaper check, ok. Lay her down, pop in the paci, give her her soft toy, and sneak out like a flash.
3:48am.
I am very much affected by light at nighttime and I had made enough effort already that I was on that borderline of wakefulness and sleepiness. Oh, well, I at least better start that stinky laundry before I crawl into bed.
Done. Now, shall I go to bed or stay up? Ok, so I admit, the “stay up” bit is really my inner martyr wanting even more sympathy heaped upon me. I would get stuff done, be cranky, and have the right to demand limitless pity. Or, I could go to bed, fall asleep 30-40 minutes later (because exposure to light really does make it difficult for me to fall asleep again), get up much too soon after that after probably sleeping in until the hosts demand my presence, be cranky, have nothing done, and complain and whine myself.
But, before I had made my choice, Ilse called. She, too, thought that the light meant it had to be morning time. A little rocking in the dark and she was again settled down, and it was 4:08 and I was not settled down.
So I came down to blog it all.
Now it’s 4:32, and I don’t have anything done, and I’m going to go to bed, and get up late, and be cranky, and complain….blah.
