Mothers=Schizophrenics

Thump…Thump…Thump…Thump

It’s a quarter to midnight on a Thursday night, and Baby G is on night number three of a bedtime sleeping strike.  The first night, he was playing with his pacifier, taking it out, popping it back in, yanking it out, popping back in, an endless cycle until one overzealous yank flung the binkie out of his reach and into the black abyss that is his nursery, at which point he started with the warning stutters of a pending full-on wail.   Last night, he was attempting to grab at the tiny teddy bears dangling from the mobile hanging above his crib, all the while happily babbling to himself, or to the bears, or to Jesus.   Tonight, he is protesting sleep by swinging his legs high in the air and plopping them down on his crib mattress repeatedly.  Thump…Thump…Thump…Thump. 

I expect him to peter out somewhere between midnight and 1 a.m., at which point he will start with those warning stutters of a pending full-on wail as a request to be ‘topped off’ as I say.  I’m not complaining. 

Someday I’ll sleep through the night again…I know I will.  Yes, I realize I’ve been saying that for all of his 9 months. 

At times, I would say it with more vigor & determination; especially if this was a workday morning following a night of 5-6 wakings. As a newborn all the way up until about 7 months, Baby G was dealing with some undiagnosed Eczema skin issues that we had mistaken for colic and gas and reflux and allergies and over-stimulation and under-stimulation and oversupply issues and low-supply  issues (get the idea?), so we weren't keen on putting him on a sleep schedule until we figured out what was going on with him.  Which was fun, as I learned how to function during the day as a SLP zombie for 3/4 of a school year, and in the evenings come home to a very fussy little dude.  Ah, those were the days. Good times!  Once we figured out the Eczema issues, and pinpointed the solutions, his sleep schedule has, for the most part, taken care of itself.  I digress.

Other times, I would say it with feigned anticipation, much like how you would say you’re looking forward to starting that new diet, because although you want the weight loss, you just aren’t sure if you really want to give up the chocolate fudge brownies.

As for tonight, it would definitely take on the latter tone.  In fact, I'm considering not saying it at all.  I don’t have to work in the morning and he’s only a baby once, and is growing WAY TOO FAST might I add, so to be perfectly honest, I cherish these late night nursings, even at 9 months.  Perhaps I should say I particularly cherish feeling needed by him and choose to see this as an extra bonding session where we can ‘touch base’ with each other, for I am given daily clues that these baby days are limited.   At 9 months, he is doing SO many more things that showcase his growing independence, and as a result, his inevitable separation from his mommy a little too quickly for her liking. 

Crawling, for example.  And usually in an away-from-mommy direction. 

Which is healthy and very exciting, but also a little bit saddening because the days of my tiny, stationary, pre-mobile baby are now a memory.  GAH!  No one ever warns you that motherhood is so schizophrenic. Or is it bipolar?  Watching my baby grow is my greatest pride and strangely, at the same time, my greatest sorrow.  Oh Lord, I’m one of THOSE moms.  Tissues, anyone?  

However, the joy reflected on HIS face when he accomplishes something for the very first time is truly, totally, and completely worth all the tearful goodbyes to his previous stages, phases, and ages.  

So, Baby Boy, here is my proposition to you.  You are welcome and strongly encouraged to grow, accomplish, excel, conquer, and explore all you want during the day, so long as you meet me at night to rock a bit and rest your still-so-very-sweet-and-not-yet-big-baby head on my shoulder as you drift off to those baby dreams, for just a little while longer.