Clock It
I have spent the past seven and a half months trying to get Caches on something that resembles a schedule. It's not working. The only and I mean ONLY thing that is somewhat predictable is that he will be hungry every 2 hours. Yep, my 7.5 month old baby STILL nurses every 2 hours like a newborn. Probably because he likes to eat ALL day like his mama he never holds still and is constantly burning calories; it takes a lot of energy to drive ones mother INSANE, and I should know.
I have read all the books, attempted to let him develop his own schedule (epic FAIL), and done research above and beyond what most would call sufficient. I have literally tried everything aside from locking him in his room until he's 30; he resists. And I don't know why I am surprised. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. You'd think I would resign and just let it be but that's simply not my style. We have established that I'm kind of a control freak, right? I thought so.
My son does NOT FOLLOW THE RULES.
This is an INCREDIBLY hard pill to swallow, and I down 8 pills in one gulp every morning. But this, this is a fucking horse pill! You see, I like routine. I like a schedule. I like to follow the rules. I like to know what time each day I can expect a small break to stare at a clean sheet of white paper and clear my head. I like to be able to plan an outing, a play date, a SHOWER! I LIKE CONTROL!
And I honestly thought that by now he would at least kind of fall into a routine of eating, sleeping, pooping, having meltdowns and practicing his baby skills, but no, not even close. He still poops at least 4 nights a week in the middle of the night just for funsies! Which means I have to change him in the dark while he screams and panics and thrashes about, shit going everywhere. But I don't care, I'm an Olympic athlete dark room diaper changer; and I'm too tired to care. I slap on a new diaper, tell the neighbors to put the phone down, I'm not torturing the baby, wash my hands and attempt to put him back to sleep. Attempt being the operative word. "Oh, just push back his feedings and he won't poop at night anymore." Um, I can't cut off all liquids after 6pm like a puppy!
And like all of our rough roads, it ends in a rarely seen, forbidden city called sleep. Sleep seems to be the one thing tying everything together in a frayed boyscout knot of chaos. Some well meaning strangers tell me, "Oh he just doesn't want to miss anything." What the hell is he going to miss?? NOTHING IS GOING ON! I tell you what he's missing, a mommy that can form a logical sentence and remember to wear underwear.
Now, I know in the grand scheme of life this isn't all that big of a deal. I know he will eventually sleep through the night, not poop at 5AM, and get on a schedule, but I am a catastrophic thinker. And there is nothing you can say that won't make me think that his lack of sleeping now will lead to attention and behavioral problems as a toddler, which will lead to struggles in school, which will cause him to give up and play video games all night in our basement when he is 45 years old. Just waiting for us to die so he can inherit the house and sleep all day when I'm dead and could give a shit if he sleeps or not!
Yep, this what keeps me up at night, thoughts of my son being a 45 year old video game addict and it being ALL MY FAULT! Someone please, medicate me. With booze at the very least. OK, chocolate, how about chocolate?
I have read all the books, attempted to let him develop his own schedule (epic FAIL), and done research above and beyond what most would call sufficient. I have literally tried everything aside from locking him in his room until he's 30; he resists. And I don't know why I am surprised. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. You'd think I would resign and just let it be but that's simply not my style. We have established that I'm kind of a control freak, right? I thought so.
My son does NOT FOLLOW THE RULES.
This is an INCREDIBLY hard pill to swallow, and I down 8 pills in one gulp every morning. But this, this is a fucking horse pill! You see, I like routine. I like a schedule. I like to follow the rules. I like to know what time each day I can expect a small break to stare at a clean sheet of white paper and clear my head. I like to be able to plan an outing, a play date, a SHOWER! I LIKE CONTROL!
And I honestly thought that by now he would at least kind of fall into a routine of eating, sleeping, pooping, having meltdowns and practicing his baby skills, but no, not even close. He still poops at least 4 nights a week in the middle of the night just for funsies! Which means I have to change him in the dark while he screams and panics and thrashes about, shit going everywhere. But I don't care, I'm an Olympic athlete dark room diaper changer; and I'm too tired to care. I slap on a new diaper, tell the neighbors to put the phone down, I'm not torturing the baby, wash my hands and attempt to put him back to sleep. Attempt being the operative word. "Oh, just push back his feedings and he won't poop at night anymore." Um, I can't cut off all liquids after 6pm like a puppy!
And like all of our rough roads, it ends in a rarely seen, forbidden city called sleep. Sleep seems to be the one thing tying everything together in a frayed boyscout knot of chaos. Some well meaning strangers tell me, "Oh he just doesn't want to miss anything." What the hell is he going to miss?? NOTHING IS GOING ON! I tell you what he's missing, a mommy that can form a logical sentence and remember to wear underwear.
Now, I know in the grand scheme of life this isn't all that big of a deal. I know he will eventually sleep through the night, not poop at 5AM, and get on a schedule, but I am a catastrophic thinker. And there is nothing you can say that won't make me think that his lack of sleeping now will lead to attention and behavioral problems as a toddler, which will lead to struggles in school, which will cause him to give up and play video games all night in our basement when he is 45 years old. Just waiting for us to die so he can inherit the house and sleep all day when I'm dead and could give a shit if he sleeps or not!
Yep, this what keeps me up at night, thoughts of my son being a 45 year old video game addict and it being ALL MY FAULT! Someone please, medicate me. With booze at the very least. OK, chocolate, how about chocolate?
how about an entire batch of brownies, round 2?!
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