0155 hours
Inflatable Couch, Living Room
Memo
At 0130 hours, after a cumulative 40 minutes of sleep since first attempting to sleep at 2130 hours the previous evening (on a Friday night! Wild and craazy), it was determined that it was time to end. this. war.
How was it determined? Well, probably, because I threw my pillow violently across the room and sat in cold, cold silence as Paul jerked awake going, "Areyouokaywhat'swrongwhathappenedwhat???" and I could still hear the distant not-really-crying-more-like-complaining noises from Hadrian's room that had been going on for ten minutes straight.
I sound like an awful mother? Here's the thing though. He's fine. He just wanted someone to come in, remind him that it's possible to go from sitting to laying down, and give him his pacifier back. He wasn't hurt or hungry. Just upright and pacifier-less.
So, Paul went and reminded Hadrian how to lie down and gave him back his pacifier (for the third time so far that evening) and I sat there on the edge of the bed staring at the wall for a good half and hour (probably actually 30 seconds?) and thought, "HECK, if I'm going to be awake, I might as well do things instead of just staring at walls and violently throwing pillows (which was a first for me)."
So I took a shower. Because I was going to in the morning anyway.
And I gathered my arsenal - a glass of water, pillow, blanket, book, laptop, and earplugs.
And headed out to battle here in Living Room, leaving Paul, who was back in bed but watching me, scared to death, as I grumpily gathered said arsenal, to hopefully fall back asleep.
The basic plan that I cooked up in the shower is this - I will neither pick-up (unless he actually needs help or has a diaper emergency or something of that nature) nor feed the practical-toddler until 6am. I will check on him when he's awake every 10-15 minutes and comforting words/caresses are permissible, though I would guess they may actually make him more angry...but...okay. I was going to make myself a big bowl of popcorn, but it seemed unethical to eat when he won't be eating - sort of our own Geneva Convention agreement? But, bottom line, no reminding-how-to-become-gracefully-horizontal and no pacifier assists.
It ends tonight! It ends toniiiiiiiiiight!
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Update 0250 hours
Well, we're about...ohhh...45 seconds into the first crying battle.
It's so sad. It's so sad sounding.
This is going to be awful.
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Update 0408 hours
So, ten minutes in, I go into check on Hadrian and turns out the kid has a fever! So... the battle is off. Poor little guy. Spent the last hour administering some medicine and cuddling and nursing, though he refuses one side.... Darnit. Probably an ear infection - good thing it's the weekend! (not)
Inflatable Couch, Living Room
Memo
At 0130 hours, after a cumulative 40 minutes of sleep since first attempting to sleep at 2130 hours the previous evening (on a Friday night! Wild and craazy), it was determined that it was time to end. this. war.
How was it determined? Well, probably, because I threw my pillow violently across the room and sat in cold, cold silence as Paul jerked awake going, "Areyouokaywhat'swrongwhathappenedwhat???" and I could still hear the distant not-really-crying-more-like-complaining noises from Hadrian's room that had been going on for ten minutes straight.
I sound like an awful mother? Here's the thing though. He's fine. He just wanted someone to come in, remind him that it's possible to go from sitting to laying down, and give him his pacifier back. He wasn't hurt or hungry. Just upright and pacifier-less.
So, Paul went and reminded Hadrian how to lie down and gave him back his pacifier (for the third time so far that evening) and I sat there on the edge of the bed staring at the wall for a good half and hour (probably actually 30 seconds?) and thought, "HECK, if I'm going to be awake, I might as well do things instead of just staring at walls and violently throwing pillows (which was a first for me)."
So I took a shower. Because I was going to in the morning anyway.
And I gathered my arsenal - a glass of water, pillow, blanket, book, laptop, and earplugs.
And headed out to battle here in Living Room, leaving Paul, who was back in bed but watching me, scared to death, as I grumpily gathered said arsenal, to hopefully fall back asleep.
The basic plan that I cooked up in the shower is this - I will neither pick-up (unless he actually needs help or has a diaper emergency or something of that nature) nor feed the practical-toddler until 6am. I will check on him when he's awake every 10-15 minutes and comforting words/caresses are permissible, though I would guess they may actually make him more angry...but...okay. I was going to make myself a big bowl of popcorn, but it seemed unethical to eat when he won't be eating - sort of our own Geneva Convention agreement? But, bottom line, no reminding-how-to-become-gracefully-horizontal and no pacifier assists.
It ends tonight! It ends toniiiiiiiiiight!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Update 0250 hours
Well, we're about...ohhh...45 seconds into the first crying battle.
It's so sad. It's so sad sounding.
This is going to be awful.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Update 0408 hours
So, ten minutes in, I go into check on Hadrian and turns out the kid has a fever! So... the battle is off. Poor little guy. Spent the last hour administering some medicine and cuddling and nursing, though he refuses one side.... Darnit. Probably an ear infection - good thing it's the weekend! (not)
If it makes you feel any better, I cannot count the number of times I have had a kid's behavior seem way out of line and I've decided that THIS was the moment to put my foot down and implement some tough love. Then after letting them cry or be hungry or whatever, they wake up barfing or feverish or covered in hives or something. Then I feel terrible but it all makes sense. (Of course the rare times I coddle them they aren't actually sick, so I'm not sure what to make of that. Faulty intuition, maybe?)
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