Two Steps Forward, One Step Back… And a Shuffle Sideways
A week or two ago, Liam suddenly settled into a routine of what could technically be called “sleeping through the night,” that being defined by the general authorities as going six hours between feedings. He would eat at 9:30 or 10:00pm and go to bed – in his own basket, no less – when we did. Somewhere around 1:00am he would awaken, but by hauling him into bed with me and plopping my thumb in his mouth, I could buy myself another three hours of mutual sleep before he insisted on his feeding rights. If I could fall into bed by eleven (somehow I rarely manage to get there sooner) I could have a good five-hour stretch, only slightly interrupted by the aforementioned hauling and plopping.
I use the words “settled” and “routine,” although they erroneously imply a snug lack of variance in the schedule. In fact, just when I had stopped holding my breath and settled myself in comfortably to this new nighttime sequence, someone pressed the rewind button. Now we seem to be trying to head the wrong way on one of those moving ramps they have at airports. Liam wakes up in the dark of the night, and I have him in my bed with my thumb in his mouth before I know what is happening. As the clock ticks inexorably on toward that feeding/pumping session of the wee hours, however, I become dimly aware that something is not right here. Liam is kicking and flailing rather forcefully for someone who is supposed to be lulled instantly back to another peaceful, three-hour slumber. The thumb is only supposed to reside in his oral cavity for a few minutes, and I find myself repeatedly having to pinpoint said cavity amidst a wriggling heap of baby and stopper it up again. The whole thing feels disturbingly like a wrestling match, in which the object is to quiet the other party by gagging him. I can’t help thinking it is a highly artificial system.
That moment when I stop wrestling, give up and get up seems to come earlier and earlier. 3:40am… 3:20… 3:00… 2:45… 3:20 again. Once we are up, Liam guzzles ravenously in a state more or less semi-awake, depending on how long and how hard we fought before arising. It used to be, in the very recent past, that he would imbibe, I would do my best to get the burps out before he fell asleep, and then he was dead to the world again, going back – get this – into his own bed. Then he began to come fully awake for these feedings, indulging in some alert study of the moonlit curtains and a dirty diaper before falling abruptly off the cliff into the Land of Nod. He would usually recline in the moving swing for the diaper session while I pumped his next meal, falling asleep before I was done. Then I would be left with the choice of moving him back to bed dirty diaper and all, or risk awakening him while I changed it.
Since his propensity for a lengthy night snooze is generally waning, we adopted the practice of stuffing him with as much milk as he will drink at that bedtime feeding, in effort to hold him longer. A couple of nights ago, he ate his usual four ounces at 6:45, ate again at 8:15, and again at 9:30. Note that that was his schedule, not ours – we just happily supplied the milk, figuring that the more he ate in the evening, the less likely he was to be hungry in the night. He passed out at 10:00, belly distended with the good stuff. We thrashed it out as usual, got up at 4am, and he ravenously chugged the six-plus ounces he usually orders at that hour. But then he would not sleep. He was thinking about it, mind you, but was being extremely picky about how and when. We tried the swing, and that was unacceptable. We tried gliding him into a drowsier state, and that was insulting. We tried putting him in his bed and giving him a finger to suck, and that was downright depressing.
At that point, it had been more than six hours since the last time I pumped, and I was, to put it mildly, full. I was counting the minutes until I could turn on the milking machine. And Liam was showing a decided inclination to scream. My thoughts definitely tended toward such uncouth expressions as “Bother!” and “Dash it!” I thought about crying in frustration myself and decided against it, merely on the grounds that it would probably be just another time-consuming event on the pre-pumping agenda. I do not remember how, but I do know that Liam did eventually go to sleep, and I crawled back into bed about nine fluid ounces lighter.
You would think that having stuffed himself with six ounces or so in the night, the boy could be expected to sleep for another four hours. No. Morning cometh, and he awakens. By seven, usually, he wants to be up and doing. You were right in supposing that he isn’t really that hungry; he just wants to get up. The cute thing is that when you throw in the towel, utter your “bothers” and your “dash its” and get up with him, he is so terribly excited to see you. He is a happy man in the mornings. If you head straight to the changing table, as is no doubt necessary after that huge bottle he chugged recently, he turns into a Christmas tree on the spot, beaming and twinkling like a string of 40-watt icicle lights.
The good news is, long about 9:30pm, Liam has gorged himself so thoroughly in those evening feedings that he is very happy to go to bed. This means that you can put him down “drowsy but awake,” and he needs very little coaxing to push off in his dreamboat. In fact, giving him the thumb is really just for the purpose of helping him back into a state of drowsiness if he woke a little too “up” on your way to the bedroom. Last night he looked up bright-eyed when I put him in his basket, so I sang to him. He lay there and gave me little, sleepy smiles until his eyes glazed under heavy lids. It was one of those moments when you remember why people wax nostalgic about motherhood.
Speaking of that basket, it will not be much longer functional. Liam is two feet long now, and that basket, judging from the looks of things when Liam is stretched out fully, is probably two feet one inch. I will hate to give it up – not because of any nostalgia, but because it is just so convenient in the middle of the night. Having him an arm’s length away, at just the same height as our mattress, means I do not have to get out of bed to tend to him. I would be happy to give him a little more independence and see if, for example, by giving him five minutes to stop his fussing, he goes back to sleep on his own in the night. But I don’t think we’re to that point yet, and I foresee a lot of traffic between my bed and the crib until he is old enough to no longer feel that I am the only acceptable answer in the dark.
The other issue is that he likes his basket. He is comfortable with it. We are just now getting back to the point, known once upon a time but forgotten for so many weeks, where he will stretch out leisurely in it instead of demanding immediate human proximity. I do not think it will be easy to transition him to the crib. The obvious solution, of course, is to put him in the crib for naps, so that he gets used to sleeping there. The problem with that is that he does not like to lie down during the day. He naps in his swing, semi-upright. The only time he is ever in the crib is playtime, with the mobile and the mirror captivating his interest. I doubt he will readily view it as a place to sleep.
I think time will resolve these things. I notice subtle changes lately. Liam’s preferred method of falling asleep during the day is still to sit reclined against me and suck my thumb, but the thumb is spit out sooner. In fact, he becomes rather adamant about its being a nuisance and I’m-trying-to-fall-asleep-here-thank-you-very-much. He no longer needs to feel me close by as his only security. Once asleep in my lap, he tends to bob and weave and jerk back awake, as though the upright position is beginning to actually seem insecure. Fairly soon, he will probably be happier lying down. Before I know it, no doubt he will be a willful toddler, pushing me away and requiring his own, undisturbed space.
Anyway, I am sure these little creases will soon iron themselves out. Things are really progressing nicely. We just have to realize that it is a dance, not a march, and be prepared to execute a few side steps along the way.
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