PH only had one day off this week. Sunday. So of course, we filled Sunday with plans.
PH decided that since we were both exhausted from the recent disrupted nights, that Sunday should be dubbed Nap Day.
I pointed out that I don’t really do naps. It’s rare that I actually manage to fall back asleep once sufficiently roused in the mornings, and on the rare occasion that I do, they seem to make me groggy and disoriented, rather than rested. Early nights don’t work for me, either. I need sleep-ins.
PH used to get up with Babby for a couple of hours in the morning on weekends so I could get some extra shut-eye, but over the last couple of months the nights have been so disrupted, and Babby’s morning wake-ups have become so early (often 6 or 6:30 in the morning) that he tends to sleep through Babby’s wake-ups in the morning. Not wanting to disturb him, the man who sometimes works 6 day weeks, I would get up with Babby and usually by the time PH achieved consciousness, I had Babby changed and breakfasted and everything.
So, we decided that this Sunday PH would take Babby in the morning, and I could sleep in. Then, while I put Babby down for his morning nap, PH would get a nap himself. That way we both would get a couple of extra hours.
The rest of the day’s plans were filled with renewing car insurance, shopping for new scrubs for me, groceries, and then dropping Babby off at Pug Mama’s house while we went off to a movie.
Well, you all know how well things go when you plan a herculean number of things into one day.
The first thing to go was our extra sleeps. Babby woke up a little later in the morning than usual, around 7 am, after a semi-disrupted night. His cheerful noises roused both of us, and we talked out the day’s plan a little more. Then PH went to the bathroom, and we both went on autopilot.
I changed Babby’s diaper and sat in the rocker while he played in his room. PH, emerging from the bathroom, was distracted by the shiny internet and sat down at the computer, as he usually does in the mornings before work.
After half an hour or so he became aware of the fact that Babby and I were no longer upstairs. He found us downstairs and I was giving Babby breakfast. We all ate breakfast and then I went back up and put Babby down for his morning nap a little early (so we could get All Those Things Done).
I think PH felt bad about me losing my sleep-in, so he suggested I try and nap with him. I couldn’t fall asleep, and neither could he (although usually PH could nap on a bed of ice and rocks if given the opportunity).
So neither of us got our extra sleep. Nap Day was a fail.
Babby’s morning nap was inexplicably long, so when he woke up we only had time for car insurance, lunch, and then a drive-around to conk Babby out for a while before delivering him to his baby sitter (handing her a tired Babby and saying ‘Have fun!” seemed cruel and unusual).
The rest of the day went fine. We saw our movie, but it went longer than we expected so there was no time for a dinner afterwards. We picked up groceries instead with the remaining time, because we’re romantic like that.
We fetched Babby, who had apparently behaved himself very well, and took him home and put him to bed. We stared mindlessly at Mythbusters and then we took ourselves to bed, too.
That’s when things got weird.
Babby slept.
And slept.
And SLEPT.
He woke up ONCE, at 2, and went down fairly easily. Then he slept until 5 AM.
We should have been rejoicing in the streets, and PH was inclined to do just that.
Problem is, I don’t rejoice at 5 AM.
I don’t do ANYTHING at 5 am, except sleep, or growl.
When PH suggested just ending on a good note and letting Babby get UP for the day, I was all like “OH HELL NO.” The kid was rubbing his eyes and yawning. No reason why he couldn’t go back down for another couple hours and then I could SLEEP.
Except that, yawning and eye-rubbing aside, Babby seemed quite determined to stay awake this time.
“I don’t think he’s going to go back down,” said my husband, the realist.
“HE’LL GO DOWN,” I said through gritted teeth.
PH decided that I was being scary and took himself back to bed, essentially saying, “good luck with that.”
And he wouldn’t go down, the little blighter. He kept yawning, and rubbing his eyes, but he was like “look, you wanted me to sleep and I slept. I’m done now. Up time.”
At 6:30 PH took control and decided that everyone had had enough. It was his usual wake-up time anyway. PH was annoyed with me for not believing him when he had said that Babby wouldn’t go down, and for ending such a successful night with tears and struggle. I was annoyed with the universe for not letting me get some effing morning sleep.
“What good is it to me if he sleeps from 8 am until 5 am?” I asked him, “if I can never fall asleep before midnight? And what message do we send him when we just let him get up when it’s still dark out?”
I was being unreasonable.
I KNEW I was being unreasonable.
But damnit, I wanted to defend my attempts to put him back down, because it’s one thing if I try to get him to sleep to a decent hour and fail. It’s another thing to just GIVE UP and let him get up when it’s still frigging dark out.
What if it is 4:30 am next time? Should I get up then? How about 4 am? How about 3? Why not let him just stay up all night like he wants to and give up on the sleep training entirely?
So PH went to work frustrated with me, and a little scared. I put Babby down for a nap at eight (and he went easily because he’d been up since FRIGGING FIVE) and tried to get some more shut-eye. Maybe another hour or two would restore my faith in the universe.
It usually takes me about half an hour or so to fall asleep, sometimes an hour if I’m trying to nap.
He was awake at nine.
NINE.
I’m not in a good mood.
Today should be a GOOD day. He SLEPT last night!
So why do I feel like an angry ball of fail?
