Observations from the Seedy Underbelly

I am not a typical parent....I'm certainly not the kind of parent I always imagined I'd be. Here are some random examples to explain what I mean:

1) No matter how close we get to the arrival of the new baby (and it's coming alarmingly fast this time!), I have yet to be wistful and teary-eyed about Emerson growing up to be the big brother. I don't worry about having enough love for both of them and I don't worry about Emerson feeling misplaced. And yet, pretty much every other mother I know who's having a second child or just had one is feeling this way. Is it because I'm a cold-hearted bitch? Is it because Emerson's developmental delays make the "growing up" part seem painfully slow? Maybe both?

I'm thinking it may be more the former. I think this because I am also not nearly as eager to meet this new baby as I was to meet Emerson. Don't get me wrong, I know this baby will bring our family to new heights of love. I know I won't feel complete until he's safely tucked in my arms and I can't wait to see what he'll look like. But I also know the sleepless nights and hard work ahead!

This morning, Emerson and I slept in until 11am (no matter how hard we try lately, he wants to stay up until 10 or 11 and then sleep in until the same time the next morning). I have to admit, it's been pure heaven and I am soaking up every minute of it because I know it won't last much longer!

Later this afternoon, a man came over to buy a baby monitor I had posted for sale on Craigslist. The moment I opened the door, I could see he was a man on the edge. He explained that he and his wife had a 3 week old daughter who was sleeping horribly and recently came down with a fever to make matters worse. They were hoping this new monitor (the kind that sets off an alarm if your baby stops breathing) would give them the peace of mind to let them rest. I tried to reassure him that it will get easier after the first month of hell, but I conveniently left out the part about how the next 10 or 11 months are only slightly better.

I suppose at least this time around, I have the reassurance that there is indeed light at the end of the tunnel and that most of the time, just surviving is good enough!

2) In the great parental competition, I am just the waterboy. (oh, don't worry - there are many more sports metaphors to come)

When you get pregnant, you start to suspect that parents are very competitive because every one is quick to offer advice and admonishment if you don't see it their way. When you have the child, you are immediately thrown into the ring and must battle it out for "who's child is the most beautiful/healthy/intelligent/coordinated/well-mannered/etc, etc." The way parents vie for their child's position at the top of the heap is sometimes subtle - just an apgar score dropped here or a "she's in the 90th percentile" there. Other times it's more obvious as one parent gloats over a new word their child learned and the next is quick to top it with the full sentence their child said the other day. It happens in playdates and on playgrounds - in coffee shops and church nurseries.

I know this not because I am a top competitor, but because I've watched it from the sidelines. I suppose one upside of having a child with developmental delays is that no one feels the need to compete with you. I've realized lately that I am like the gay friend who gets to come into the dressing room while you change - in other words, not a threat. This means that I not only witness the battles from a safe distance, parents also confide in me what they are thinking about their competitors.

I haven't quite sorted out how to feel about this status. Insulted? Relieved? I suppose at some point Emerson will be caught up to his peers and I will get a taste of what it's like out there. Or maybe the new baby will give me the opportunity sooner than I think. Either way, I should probably make the most of this cushy seat on the bench while I have it.

3) I know most people believe that you are only given what you can handle in life - what you need to teach you important lessons. I also know many parents who believe that each child is born to the perfect parents for them. If this is true for someone, or helps them get through the day, I sincerely support that. For me, however, it just does not hold true.

What is the one quality I struggle with the most? Patience. What is the one quality Emerson puts to the test on a daily basis? Patience. I suppose he is the perfect child to teach me what I need to learn. But I can't believe that was fate because I can't believe that learning a life lesson should be at the expense of a child. I think the perfect parent for a child with special needs - the kind of parent Emerson deserves - is one with enormous amounts of patience and optimism. I can think of many people who exemplify these qualities including my husband, but I am not among them.

I'd like to believe that I can somewhat make up for my deficiencies by the sheer amount of love I can show him. I can do my best to be what he needs at any given time and rest assured that Robbie will pick up where I fall down. But I will never come close to being the perfect parent for him.

The other day, we met up with some friends who just came back from a summer of visiting different meditation retreats. The one friend was confiding that the more she went within herself during these retreats, the more she struggled with the negativity that kept creeping up. At first she felt the need to change it and only be positive all the time, then she realized that maybe it was best to just accept it for what it was. Another friend agreed with her, and added jokingly, "Maybe you should make a t-shirt that says, 'I'm a bitch, but I'm at one with it.'"

I would be the first one to buy this shirt.

I am not a typical parent and I'm nowhere near the perfect parent, but I can be at one with that. Or at least I can try.

"Thank the gods for blogs" or "Compromise in the Sleep War"

OK, the sleeping on the couch thing did not work. A few months ago I had a cold and slept on the couch. To our surprise, he only woke up once or twice per night, which was a dream come true (no pun intended). But he was having none of that this time.

So at 1am this morning, when I should have been catching up on desperately needed sleep, I turned to the one source I hadn't tapped yet - blogs. All day I had been emailing my attachment parenting support group, researching on the internet and reading through the baby books for any nugget of advice that might help.

The Dr. Sears/Attachment Parenting camp was not much help, unfortunately. Their pat answers - "This too shall pass" and "It's better for you to suffer than the baby" were just not cutting it. I really do believe in the principles behind this approach and Robbie and I are testaments to its success (I slept in a crib from day one and yet find it nearly impossible to fall asleep by myself at 25 years old, while Robbie co-slept until he was a toddler and he has no problems with independent sleep). On the other hand, while the Cry It Out method may be traumatizing, wasn't it just as traumatizing for everyone to be ornery, frustrated and sleep-deprived?

Update: The attachment group did end up giving me a very practical solution: children's tylenol.

I was seriously considering going cold turkey with the crib and the Cry It Out, but I knew in my gut that that wasn't the answer either. Even if exhaustion could push me to that point, Emerson is just not one of those babies that will cry himself to sleep. There have been nights when he will cry because he's gotten overly tired and - even with us right next to him, doing everything we can to comfort him - his cries will just escalate and go on for hours. When we finally find just the right combination to get him to sleep (i.e. swaying side-to-side while bouncing AND patting...or Robbie singing some ridiculous made-up song about the adventures of "Albino Man" sung to the tune of They Might Be Giants "Particle Man") he still whimpers and chokes in his sleep for another good 30-45 minutes.

Anyway, with my options looking slim, I decided to consult the world's best parenting blog (possibly best blog period): Sweet Juniper! I found a series of essays on sleep that made me laugh so hard and were so dead on that I wanted to drive to Detroit, wake these people up from their hard-won sleeping bliss and give them a giant hug. Embedded within one of these essays was a link to another blog called Ask Moxie that gave the most realistic look at children's sleep I have ever read. The basic point of it is that all kids have different personalities, including the way they sleep, so no one solution is going to be perfect for everyone. Every time an expert writes a book, the parents of kids whose personalities fit with that style rave about it as if it were God's gift to parenting. But for all those raving parents, there are an equal number of parents who didn't find success and are made to feel like failures by the s0-called experts, so they silently slink away. Moxie's best advice of all: when people ask how your baby is sleeping - just lie.

Up until a couple of months ago, I would have scoffed at the idea of even reading a blog, much less consulting one on how to raise my child. But last night I found my parenting soul mates and, as if he sensed the change in the atmosphere, Emerson slept the first four hours straight through and then (although still waking up frequently to eat) slept in until 10 am this morning!

I want to kiss Dutch and Wood. I want to kiss Moxie.

I want to sleep.

Quick Co-Sleeping Update

I am banished from my own bed tonight - forced to sleep on the couch so we can break Emerson of this latest habit of waking up every hour all night long to eat! Apparently he thinks I am a 24-hour buffet these days. The idea is that if he can't see/smell me, he won't go looking for something.

Hopefully this will work or he will be facing the crib (or as Jody lovingly calls it "the baby cage") very soon! Wish us luck...

The Woes of Co-Sleeping

Every parent has to eat their words at least once. I am proud to say that so far, I’ve stuck to my guns on many issues that I got flak for before the baby was born…like natural birth, breastfeeding and cloth diapers. But I did cave on co-sleeping. I was so sure by the end of the first month, I’d have this baby sleeping soundly through the night in his own, beautifully decorated crib. I even bought a ridiculously expensive sound and motion monitor that could detect his breathing to ensure I could lay him in the other room with the confidence that my high-tech SIDS alarm would watch over him.

Five months into it, this is the reality: a queen size bed that last year seemed luxurious compared to the futon is now bursting with sleeping bodies. On one side, my comatose husband, blissfully unaware of any noise (including, sometimes, the alarm clock), one of the dogs nestled into the crook of his knees or the small of his back. Next to him is Emerson, both arms thrown up by his head as if he fell asleep while riding the world’s most boring roller coaster, quietly munching away at his pacifier and dreaming baby dreams about endless milk and diapers that never need changing. Next to him is the other dog, successfully taking up the equivalent of an adult human despite being 20lbs and snoring as loud as one too.

And then there’s me…my body contorted into the tiniest of spaces, using the corner of a sheet for warmth because one of the dogs has swirled the comforter into a personal nest. I usually wake up with one section of my body numb from the cold, another numb from falling asleep, and another screaming with pain.

So how did I end up here? The first couple of weeks, I stuck with the plan: waking up every 2-4 hours, padding to the “nursing station” set up in the living room with my pajamas still half undone from the last feeding and crusted with everything that came back up. Those initial sessions could sometimes last 30-40 minutes, meaning by the time I burped and changed him and got him back to sleep, I was looking at an hour of sleep for myself.

There’s exhaustion, and then there’s painful exhaustion…the kind where the mere act of holding your eyes open is torturous. There were times when I got up in the middle of the night and literally ran into walls or doors, my body momentarily bouncing backward like a weeble wobble before righting itself. I would keep walking as if nothing happened, but in the back of my hazy mind, I’d think, “That was funny.”

(Thank goodness I wasn’t holding the baby for any of those slapstick moments!)

My world changed when a lactation consultant taught me how to feed the baby lying down. I would bring him into our bed for the first feeding and then wake up the next morning in a panic because he was still there. Eventually exhaustion won out over fear and it became our routine.

Obviously, just like with the dogs, by body instinctually knows where he’s at at all times (hence the painful contorting). My sleep is still crappy and interrupted, but I get more of it – and have fewer bruises from hitting the door.

Occasionally, I pore through the baby books and the internet for answers to my sleeping dilemma. Or I ask friends and family for advice, hoping I won’t get a version of the “cry it out method” I’m not willing to try. We even borrowed a co-sleeper, thinking it might be a way to slowly move him out. After all, I do want to have more than 2 inches of sleeping space...and I’m afraid of the day Super Nanny comes knocking on my door.

But then there are the times I wake up and realize I’ve rolled away from Emerson. I look back and see that somehow he’s wiggled himself close enough to touch me with a single finger or has my nightgown clutched to his face. There are the nights I come to bed last and find my husband’s arm curled around his tiny body and his nose buried into sweaty baby hair. There are countless weekend mornings when all we do is lie in bed and enjoy Emerson’s drowsy, sheepish grins and the dogs’ comical attempts to vie for our attention.

So I guess I should stop worrying about it and figure I will move him out when the time is right.

Or else we’ll get a king-sized bed.