Have you ever read this book?
Lately, I feel as though I've been living it. Terrible. Horrible. No good. Very Bad.
If sleeplessness were as compelling a topic for everyone else as it is for me, I'd be on my way to writing my very own saga - think Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey without the vampires or sadomasochism lite. But, unfortunately, tales of 4:45 am awakenings - complete with smiles and the practicing of new words - does not make for riveting drama, beyond the walls of our home, of course.
When Baby Beeton started walking, people told me to relax. Now would be the time that he'd really sleep like a log. He'd be so tired from racing around the house that he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open come bedtime.
Well, I'm sorry "experienced" mothers. That's not the case at our house. Instead, we've got a wide-eyed baby boy come 1 am, 2 am, even 3 am, awake and ready to start practicing his steps.
It seems as though we have come to a crossroads. Up until this point, we've resisted any kind of sleep training, but it looks like Baby Beeton might need a little coaching in the falling-back-to-sleep-on-your-own department. Both Mr. Beeton and I agree that we want to minimize the crying - for our sake and his - so we'll be trying the go in, soothe, go out method. But we are going to try to stop rocking him until he falls asleep again. It's not doing any of us any good, I'm afraid.
Of course, all this sleeplessness colors each and every day. Forgetting your umbrella, jamming the copier, being completely ill-prepared for class - these all seem so much more catastrophic when you're operating on less than the ideal amount of sleep. (What's ideal you ask? For me, nine hours. Yup. That's how many hours I slept straight each and every night before Baby Beeton arrived. Maybe that's why this has been so tough.) It's hard to take a deep breath sometimes and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation (having to borrow an umbrella of a student to run across the quad and make copies on the copier that you hopelessly jammed earlier for all your colleagues and which hopefully by now is fixed or you don't have a lesson plan).
Thank goodness for caramel lattes, crazy splashing in the bathtub, the public library, and Ella's pouches. It's the little things that make the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad a little bit better.
That and at least nine hours. Cross your fingers for me.
Keep sweeping, Martha
