Sleep Deprivation & Subsequent Negotiations

When George W. Bush stated that we don't negotiate with terrorists, he had clearly never come face to face with a screaming four month old.

I'm not sure if it's just my baby, because I often feel like all of my friends have perfect babies that do perfect things and perfectly sleep through the night while dreaming perfect little perfect dreams. How perfectly delightful. But Bugsy May has had some sleep regression as of late and let's just say, mama needs a cocktail. She started sleeping through the night about a month ago and I smugly joined the ranks of those perfect mothers with their perfect sleeping babies. I might have even had a smug thought or two like maybe my baby should be in one of those super cute Pampers commercials where the babies are sleeping like the little angels that they are.

Then one night, out of the blue, Bug decided to wake up at 4am. Okay, well, that's not so bad, I thought to myself.

Then on that unholiest of holy nights, the wee one was up every hour. Well. That was just an anomaly. That couldn't possibly happen again, I told myself as I tried to shake off the unnerving thought that Bug may just have it in for me.

Oh, but happen again it did. And it hasn't stopped. She has now reverted back to those newborn days of yore where every two hours she wakes up hollering, demanding that I too wake up and admire all that 2am has to offer. It ain't much, folks. If it's not last call, I'm not interested.

Last night was New Year's Eve. I barely made it through two glasses of champagne and a movie before I sadly informed my husband that I am in fact the lamest girl in the world and needed to call it a night at the late bewitching hour of 9:30pm. Bug was so sweet and thoughtful and woke up at midnight to remind me that a new year was finally upon us.

And so began a night full of baby cries and mommy sighs. Oh and a whole lot of angry whispers and not so subtle punches as my husband snored away. That man can sleep through anything but how he sleeps through the cries of a one Bugsy May, I'll never know.

And though I digress, let me address that snoring. I swear he is just mocking me with each gnarly, snorty inhale. Look at me, he breathes. I am fast asleep because it's the middle of the night and that's what you do when it's dark outside, you sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep he exhales. Apparently, the little one didn't get the memo, you snoring son of a - well, you get the picture.

And then, as the sun rises, so does the husband. He announces in a sweet, I'm here to save the day, aren't I wonderful voice that he will get up with the baby so I can sleep. How nice! Too bad I am already up for the zillionth time and won't you just be a dear and make some coffee.

So today, on New Year's Day, we are going to try something revolutionary. It is time that the Bug learns to sleep in her crib and take *gasp* naps. I spent a good hour negotiating with the baby terrorist. Here sweetheart, if I feed you will you sleep? No? Okay. How about if I rock you? Oh you don't like that either? Okay well I wouldn't want you to be upset. Diaper change. That's it. It's not? Well color me confused. Would you like to suck on your toes for awhile? You would?! Well okay!

She slept for half an hour. Just long enough for Mama to make a mimosa and toast the new year with the champagne dreams and midnight kiss she was denied the night before.

photo courtesy of www.someecards.com

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year's Eve! Being the perpetual pessimist, I often scoff at the new year. The thought of starting over, of staring at a blank page and having to begin writing a new chapter is daunting and overwhelming. And, in true Virgo fashion, I hate change. I like wearing sweat pants and feeling comfortable in the old year.

For the first time, however, I realize what a difference a year can actually make. I was knocked up for a good portion of 2013, which made me fat and boring. Yet as much as I complain about the mundane existence of my preggo self, I got to feel the little one move inside me. Even when she beat the crap out of me, it was still pretty cool. I got to eat ice cream without guilt and say things like "whatever...I'm pregnant." I was able to paint and decorate a nursery and dream about what kind of person my daughter would be. I bought a thousand books that I loved as child and reread them. My husband didn't even complain when I bought the complete Roald Dahl collection and did a giant belly happy dance in the middle of Costco at the thought of reading the BFG to baby Greene. To his credit, the husband didn't even pretend he wasn't married to me.

I pulled a total me and thought that my water breaking was a false alarm. I drove myself to the hospital like a crazy lady because I didn't want to be told that I was overreacting. I get to have that story forever and laugh every time I think of what a spectacle I made while trying not to bother anybody prematurely.

I endured the agony of labor and the joy of an epidural. I finally got my husband to admit that I am way more badass than he ever thought. I had my insides removed and rearranged during my C-section and through a euphoric, totally legal drug induced fog I saw my daughter for the first time. And it's true what they say, folks. Even though that baby is going to kill me, I was in love with her from the second I saw her. Sure, we've had to have some heart to heart talks and we are still trying to find some common ground (and by we, I'm pretty sure it's just me) but what else do you expect from two Virgo girls born 31 years and one day apart.

It might be the sleep deprivation or the champagne anticipation talking, but even though 2013 was pretty good, the unknown of 2014 is looking really sweet.

Cheers!