Do You Promise This Too Shall Pass?

 

Its 9 am and I'm on my 4th cup. Last night, thanks in part to back to school colds, teething, pink eye, deadlines, the anxiety of the approaching 4th quarter at work, and a variety of other soul-sucking factors, I slept for 45 minutes. In total. I have read all the blogs, comments and self-help books on colicky babies. The thing is, I don't have a colicky baby. I have an amazing baby who smiles, laughs, crawls, and babbles all day long. He just does. Not. Sleep.

Not in the crib, not in my arms, not in the rocking chair, not in the bed on top of me, not in the bed next to me. He will fall asleep at 9pm in the crib giving me false hope that maybe, just maybe this will be the night he sleeps. I'd praise the lord for even a solid 3 hours stretch. But like an egg timer, by 9:31 he is up. We have tried the rigid day schedule, 4 hour feedings, reducing night bottles, withholding night bottles, freely giving night bottles. He does. Not. Sleep.

Last night I reached the pinnacle of despair, as pink eye set in (for me, not him), and I fought the urge to rub my face as I walked circles around his large nursery, patting, rubbing, singing to him as he restlessly thrashed against my neck. Not crying, just thrashing. Surely this cant go on all night, right? But as the clock tauntingly crept from 1 am to 2, then 3 and 4, it continued. I may have shed a silent tear as I pleaded with him to sleep, feeling instantly sour with guilt because he is such a good boy. But as the unread email count climbs to 50 before 6 am I am in a hole of anguish thinking about the day ahead, and another night like this might break me. Or it might push me over our allotted wine budget for the entire month on the 6th day.

The Story Of Wells

On January 12, at 12:12 Wells Ridley came into the world peacefully, happily, and already hungry. The long journey to meeting our second baby began well over a year ago, when we decided to leave New York for a simpler life with a few less 'things' and a lot more love. Some heartbreak along the way caused us to contemplate giving up, but then last March I saw an email from a vendor on Welles Street in Connecticut as a sign from God that he or she was still meant to be.

In 2011, when our first love joined us on May 15th, the story was very different. A traumatic labor and delivery started us off on a rough road that continued to incline with each mile, terrain so thick it at times blocked the light. But we came out on the other side, and eventually found our groove. Luckily age and experience has made this adventure altogether unlike our first foray into parenthood. There is instant love, immediate joy, and undeniable devotion. I actually used to loathe people spewing about newborn love, and often couldn't even understand it. But I can say the second time around is a total game changer. There is, however, also pretty palatable guilt, bitter in my throat, over the fact my love was not so automatic the first time. And tangible doubt about my ability to be a competent mother to two boys while I work full time (yes, basically even during these first 2 weeks) and care for the vastly different needs of a 13 day old baby and a five and half year old growing boy. But we wake each day ready for what the challenges will be, espresso in hand til 3, wine in the glass til 9.