My kid won't sleep, Vol. 46802

Just a few minutes ago, I was listening to the heart-wrenching sounds of my daughter screaming her face off "Wanna see Mommy!  Wanna see Mommy!"  It killed me to hear it, but we're at the end of our rope.

Two years.  Two years now, and Sofia still isn't sleeping consistently.  That's not to say she's never slept through the night or taken good naps because she's done both.  We just haven't stumbled on any magic formula or routine that will yield consistent results.

She's no longer teething, she's fully weaned, there haven't been any major growth spurts, nothing to point to that would say 'well *there's* your problem!'  It's always been hit or miss and I've begun to think that parents who say their children sleep 12 hours every single night or take two and three hour naps every day are dirty rotten lying liars.

This is a big fat lie.  A LIE I tell you.

So, we're at the last resort:  Once again, I'm calling in the big guns.  This time, Daddy is going in from start to finish.  I'm completely out of the picture because we're thinking that Sofia is so attached to me that she doesn't want to be away from me even to sleep.  I can respect that - I mean, she's my homie.  We do everything together and save the four hours a week that she's at her 'school', we're never apart.  I put her to bed every night and now that we're not nursing, we just cuddle up in her armchair and I sing to her until she falls asleep.  I tried the 'putting her down drowsy' thing and she loudly let me know that was not at all acceptable.  So I sing until she's completely out.  It's just that the child can be dead asleep in my arms, snoring, but the second I ever so gently get up from the chair and try to lay her in her crib, she's wide awake whimpering "Lay down together Mommy."  If I don't return to the armchair or lay down with her, the whimpering turns to wide-awake hysterics.  It takes nearly two hours to get her to sleep at night.  EVERY NIGHT.  And after two years, It's time for a change.

I have always been heartily against crying it out and I'm still not prepared to do it now.  However, it's not because of the whole 'you're scarring your kid for life' thing.  It's because it doesn't work long term - at least according to my logic.  

Say you bite the bullet and let the kid cry it out for a few days.  Eventually they give up/get the hang of it and go to sleep with no problems.  That's great, until something happens that throws them off - travel, illness, growth, etc.  Once you get back from your trip, what are you supposed to do?  Make them cry it out again?  And then again when they're sick and they've gotten better?  I mean, I'd be all for crying it out if it was a one-time, few-days type of thing and the kid is 'cured.' But it doesn't work that way (at least for my kid) and I just can't rationalize all that freaking out - me *and* Sofia.

So we tried co-sleeping, thinking maybe she's just going through a clingy phase.  Plus, let's be honest - I'm tired, and sitting in the chair snuggling with her and falling asleep upright is not the the business.  We're not against co-sleeping, but we are against getting kicked in the face all night long, because Sofia likes her space.  

 Sofia's favorite is a combination of the Roundhouse Kick and the H is for Hell.  

She would kindly alternate kicking and headbutting us.  

ALL NIGHT LONG.

image courtesy

Co-sleeping wasn't working and laying in her bed with her wasn't doing it either.  Good thing I'm still somewhat limber from yoga because I have to bend myself all kind of ways to cram myself into her bed with her, and then channel my inner ninja to get out of the bed when she finally falls asleep.  Two hours later.  It all sucked, and I just couldn't do it anymore.

That leaves us with Daddy.  Daddy who has never ever put her to bed - he's the relief pitcher who comes in when I'm at the end of my rope and Sofia is physically too exhausted to fight anymore.  Daddy, who gives the good-night kiss and leaves Mommy and Sofia to snuggle in the chair, which in Sofia's world is just as it should be.  So you can imagine the screams that came out of her poor little body when I kissed her and told her I'd see her in the morning.  She screamed like the world was going to end.  And she kept on screaming, getting louder and more hysterical.  

Drew was not prepared.  As I said, he's never ever put her to bed before and there is no way to steel yourself against the wrath of a sleepy toddler with separation anxiety whose routine has just been changed.  But here's the kicker:  20 minutes.  It took her 20 minutes before he walked out of her room, looking like he'd come through a war, but the child was asleep.  

Now I know it probably felt like two hours to him and I know she probably pushed him away and that probably hurt his feelings, but he did it.  He put her to sleep from start to finish in 20 minutes.  That is a beautiful thing.  Now all we have to do is stick with it.  They say it takes at least a week to establish and enforce a routine, so for the rest of this week Drew will put her to sleep from start to finish.  I pray that it will get easier and it will be less violent, because something has to give.  We all need sleep in this house:  The growing toddler, the working father, the mom who has to be 'on' 24-7.  There's a reason sleep deprivation is a torture device.

So cross your fingers for our little family and let's hope that Sofia gets it all sorted out sooner rather than later.  

It's so hard to be a baby.

Do you remember that song?  Just me?  

That video is a TRIP.

I swear, I'm the only one who remembers ridiculous things like this

but can't remember where I put my keys.

Resolution and peace

You guys are amazing.  Once again, you've come through for me and I thank you so very much.  I feel so much better after reading your comments and you have all given me such wonderful suggestions.  I love you people.

First:  I'm going on a letter-writing campaign.  I really don't know why it never occurred to me before; because um, DUH, I write.  It's kinda my thing.  But I never thought to write some letters and get some stuff off my chest, and that's what I'm going to do first.  Some I'll actually send, like the one to my dad.  He may not read it, and I'm near positive he won't respond.  Even if he did, it would be nothing but bullshit; but I need to write it for me.  I need to speak my piece, have my closure and move on.   Some letters I'll probably just write and rip up.  I don't trust myself to burn them when I'm done.  I'll fuck around and singe my eyebrows off or burn my house down.  

One commenter suggested I write a letter to my teenage self (big hugs Alisa! Thank you!) and the thought nearly brought me to tears.  My God, what I would say to that poor awkward HAIRY little girl.  For real y'all - I have more hair than the average girl should have and do you know how much it SUCKED not to know enough to keep that shit in check?  How much it hurt?  How unheard and devalued I felt when I went to my mom about it and she dismissed me, saying I was just fine?  For God's sake, I had a unibrow, a mustache and more hair on my arms and legs than I knew what to do with!  And I went to Catholic school where we had to wear skirts all the time!  And I was just coming into puberty and getting interested in boys and FAHCK, kids are mean on the playground!  I was already one of only three non-white kids in the entire school and THEN I was hairy too?!  AND THEN my mom didn't seem to care?  That shit sucked.  Clear as day, I remember begging and begging my mom to shave my legs and she kept saying no until finally one day she gave in.  She took me into the bathroom and had me fill the sink with water, handed me the shaving cream and a razor and said "Ok, go."  I still remember holding that razor blade and being absolutely terrified that I was going to slice my leg open and bleed to death because I didn't have the first clue what I was doing.  I still remember that look of 'you want to do this so bad, so go ahead already what are you waiting for.'  But I didn't know what I was doing!  I just didn't want to be hairy anymore!

That's what scares me so much about being a parent.  You never know what's going to stick in your kid's head, what memory is going to stand out among the others, which of the 10,000 moments is the teaching moment.  I mean, shaving your legs for the first time is a pretty big one, along with getting your period (another not-so-great memory), but what about some other one?  Some random Tuesday that I wasn't the best mom I could have been and that's what Sofia remembers when she's 37 years old?

So among the other stuff, I plan to tell my 13-year old self "That totally sucked and I'm so very sorry." I also plan to apologize for a whole shit-ton of other stuff because kids should feel safe in their homes.  They should feel valued and respected and it's not normal when that doesn't happen.  

I also plan to write a letter to Sofia.  I always thought it was cheesy and dumb to write letters to your kids but for the first time, it didn't sound so bad to me.  

The first thing I'm going to tell Sofia?  Baby girl, we will get you lasered.  Don't you even worry about all that.  If I have to sell a kidney, you won't get teased for being hairy.  Mark my words.

I'm going to tell her some other stuff too, but that one's important.

My writing juices are flowing again and hopefully I'll get the chance to get it all out.  Just not right now, because I sat down to write this when Sofia went down for a nap and she just woke up.  And good LORD that's another one that needs to get written.

I have the most amazing child on the planet.  She's smart, funny, gorgeous and I love her to smithereens but FFFFFAAAAAAAHHHHHHCCCCCKKK this kid won't sleep!  I have tried everything under the sun and she just won't sleep and it's killing me.  You talk about not being a stellar parent - there have definitely been times that I have clenched-teeth, death-whispered Little Kid if you don't go to sleep right this mother effing second...

I have to figure something out before I can no longer function.  Okay, she's losing her shit.  Gotta go.

But thanks again for sticking with me, you guys.  You're the best.

I don't know how to blog

I'm not a niche blogger.  I don't talk about just one thing.  In retrospect, blogging might be a lot easier than it is right now if I did only talk about one thing, because I'm stuck as hell right now.  When you have a 'living memoir' type blog - which is just fancy talk for telling your story as it happens - you have to do just that, tell your story.  And when your story sucks, and it's hard and ugly and makes you want to punch things, but that's all you know, you feel stuck.

Father's Day was hard.  It was good but it was hard.

We had a little photoshoot and made a collage for Drew.

I even got lucky and got some decent shots.

But it was a hard day too because I have had a huge falling out with my own dad and in August, it will be a year that we haven't spoken.  It was hard to see all those Facebook status updates with the girls on their wedding days and their dads on their arms, talking about 'Happy Father's Day to the first man I ever loved.'  I used to feel that way about my dad and it sucks because that feeling is gone forever.  I feel so sad and betrayed and hurt by the breakdown of our relationship.  There's so much to say about it, yet there's nothing that can be said.  It's over and it sucks.

I could outline all the dirty details but when do I stop telling my story and start airing dirty laundry and start pointing fingers and calling names?  I don't ever want to stoop and I'm not naive - I know I have an audience and I know that things can get back to people and I still have a sense of loyalty to some of my family members, whether they deserve it or not.  My loyalty is about *my* character, not about them and as much as I want to shout to the heavens about all the ways I've been wronged and abused and mistreated, I have to know that the heavens already know.  

And as much as I want to tell my story because I feel stuck in this place if I don't, I also have to know that it doesn't have to be that way.  My story is bigger than my daddy issues, I'm just having trouble seeing that right now.

I'm saying all that to say, yet again, I have no idea what I'm doing here.  I've asked for help before and you guys came through in spades.  I want to write; I need to write to keep my sanity. I've been bouncing off the walls in my head for days now because I haven't written.  My fingers on the keyboard typing even this much have done a lot to calm me down, so I'm really hoping you could help me out just one more time?

What other parts of my story would you like to hear?  Is that lame of me to even ask?  I feel like I'm at a speed bump and I don't have enough gas to get over the hump - won't you give me just a little push?

What can I tell you?  What can we talk about?  Is there something you'd like to know?  

Because I really don't want to be stuck in this place, thinking about my family and getting sad and feeling paralyzed, but I'm having a little trouble pulling up my own bootstraps, you know?  

I sure would appreciate just the littlest bit of assistance.  

And I apologize in advance if this post is garbage.  At least there's a cute kid, right?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch

First off, you guys are amazing and I love you.  I realize love might be a strong word and it might make some of you uncomfortable, but rest assured there won't be any awkward hugging or too-long eye contact.  I just feel so much gratitude and love is the best word to describe it.  Thank you isn't enough, so yeah, I love you.  Deal with it.

I read all of your comments on the last post over and over again and I appreciate you offering your insight and words of encouragement.  It helped me to get through my trip and I was comforted in knowing that I wasn't alone in my feelings.  And you all are so right, that isn't my home anymore.  My home is with my husband and my daughter and they are my first family now, and that's okay.  I have been wrestling with a lot of feelings of guilt and misplaced obligation and I'm trying to let it go.  It's complicated and messy and I'm sure I'll try to put my feelings into words at some point, but it's still kind of raw for that right now.  At this point, it would just be a jumble of sentence fragments and tears, so we'll come back to it another time.

But now.  Now, I'm home.  I've unpacked and Sofia is napping.  And let me tell you, that is a major accomplishment.  In the eight days we were at my mom's, she did not take one nap in bed at the appropriate time.  All sleep happened in the carseat or stroller and not on purpose; her schedule was shot to shit and I dreaded coming back and trying to establish some sense of order.  However, she seemed relieved to be asleep in her crib at the appointed time so I'm hoping that she'll welcome a return to routine.  Now, I just have to remind her that ice cream is not a suitable breakfast, no matter what Grandma says.  

Now, it wasn't all turmoil and strife.  We did some really fun things while we were in Kansas and Drew did some fun things while he was at home during his bachelor week, and I must share them now!

First, I finally figured out what to do with my big ass wall in the living room.

Originally, I wanted Drew to build some floating shelves to hold books 

and knick-knacks.

I would link to that post but my internet is being weird right now, 

but you remember right?

But then I got my book wall for Mother's Day.

The Expedit holds books too, and while a house can never

have too many books, I suddenly didn't want shelves anymore.

Also, I'm totally following your advice and putting baskets underneath.

I tried some dark baskets but they were too dark, so I'm thinking

white or even a little burst of color down there.

I'll keep you posted.

Our flight left for KC at 5:45am Sunday morning.  That means we had to leave the house at 3:45, which meant waking up at 2:45.  In the morning.  So please tell me why I was up at midnight, painting?

Oh that's right.  Because I'm insane.  And once I figured out what I wanted, I had to get started.  Right that second.

Three words:  Board. And. Batten.

And, because it's me - it was much harder than it had to be.  I mean, Young House Love just did a tutorial on it, for pete's sake.  Did I follow it to the letter, like I should have because they are ridiculously thorough?  Nope.  However, measuring and levels were involved so it wasn't that bad.

Saturday, after getting in a huge fight about why we have to board and batten right this second when I should be packing and getting ready for our trip, Drew and I found ourselves at Lowe's, buying wood.  Initially, I went to Home Depot and bought the 1x3s for the top rail, but they didn't have lattice for the vertical pieces.  They weren't called lattice; I think they were called furring strips?  Don't quote me on that; they were basically lattice knock-offs and they were only a dollar a piece.  

See how the ghetto lattice is all rough?  That's ghetto.

Even though the real lattice is more expensive, it's worth it.

Also, Home Depot didn't carry lattice and the Lowe's people acted like I was 

speaking Chinese when I asked them for lattice.

I had to hunt for it; it's with the moldings and chair rails.

There is no rhyme or reason to board and batten placement.  

It depends on what looks good to you.

This height looked good to me, so Drew leveled it out and got to nailin'.

Same thing with the battens.  16 inches looked like a good width, so Drew leveled 

and nailed and Sofia supervised.

Here's a tip:  Cut you out a 16-inch piece of board and use that as your spacer when

you're attaching your vertical pieces.  Trying to use a tape measure to get 16 precise inches is the biggest pain in the ass you will ever experience.

We didn't figure this out until the next to the last batten.

Why?  Because I didn't follow the tutorial.

Follow tutorials, people.  Seriously.

Drew did the leveling and nailing, and it was up to me to do the painting.  So, after Sofia went to bed Saturday night and I finished packing, I got to painting.  I got a pint of Decorator's White matched to a Behr's no-VOC from Lowe's and painted the walls and railings.  At eleven o'clock at night.  Because I'm insane.

I only got a couple hours sleep before it was time to head to the airport and my handsome hero of a husband finished the last coat and put the plate on the light switches.

Didn't he do an amazing job?

These pictures were over our bed but I think they're better suited out here.

 And it's obvious that the front door needs to be painted now.

I'm thinking a deep navy.  What do y'all think?

Also, the pictures are placed this way because of the door.  

Do I disregard that and center them on the wall or leave them as is?

I'm not sure.

Also, the lower outlet isn't white and that pains me.

One day soon, we're switching all the outlets and covers to white.

One day, my pretty...

I am in love with our board and batten and I couldn't be happier with how it turned out.  My favorite is how it makes the baseboard heat less obvious.  I don't know if you can tell that from the pictures, but it definitely makes a difference in real life.  And I'm sure if we'd followed the tutorial, I'm sure it would have been easier and one of these days, I swear I'm going to research my next project like crazy before I start.  Promise.

Oh!  One more thing!

I've been living like this for almost a year.

That's right, no bathroom door.

Feel sorry for me, because you should.

Now, I'm enlightened.  I know everybody poops - I just don't need to see it, hear it and I don't particularly care to smell it.  I always use the hall bathroom for such activities and I do my best to keep the door closed, because let's face it:  No one needs to see your poop face.

Additionally, Drew wakes up at five in the morning to go to work and whenever he'd turn on the light and get in the shower at that hour, it was unpleasant to say the least.  Especially after he'd had his morning coffee, if you know WhatI'mSayin.  We needed a bathroom door.

The problem was, we didn't have the space to have a regular door that swings out; that's why I took it off in the first place.  With all our giant furniture (which is also going to go someday), we didn't have the space for a door.  We looked at every option, from a Japanese-style sliding screen, a sliding barn door, pocket doors, all to no avail.  A screen wouldn't block light, a barn door would need clearance behind the dresser, and it's crazy hard to install pocket doors after construction, since you need to account for the studs and all that.

WELL!  My handy hubby struck again!  

Voila! Poop faces be gone!

Well, hidden anyway.

These are actually closet doors from Lowe's and they open like baby French doors.  They completely block the light and once they're painted and I put some handles on them, they're going to be amazing!

Drew did a wonderful job and I'm so proud of him!  Kinda makes me want to go out of town more often.  But not really.

We're not going anywhere until August and I'm hoping that I'll be able to get Sofia's room and the guest room done by then.  

So how bout y'all?  Doing anything interesting at your ranch?

You can't go home

What is it about going home? Is it just me, or do other people feel all the complicated feelings when they go home?

I'm visiting my family and friends back home and this has been the most emotional visit to date. So much so that I don't feel good about coming back here again. 

I'm trying to sort through my own stuff while trying to make this a pleasant visit for Sofia and it's not easy. I'm doubting everything; even the validity of my childhood, you guys. This is ridiculous. Is there something in the air here?

It's even got me questioning whether I should continue blogging. In the three plus years that I've had the blog, I've never thought about pulling the plug until now. I find myself wanting to run and hide so no one will find me; I want to erase as much of my presence as possible to protect myself. So they can't get to me and hurt me anymore. Crazy, right?  That's what being home is like. 

I'm torn; I don't think this is how you're supposed to feel about your family. I still feel a sense of obligation, but I also have a strong sense of self-preservation. 

It's like choosing to attempt to unravel a knotted mess of yarn, or just accepting that the knots are too strong, too messy and you'll never be able to make sense of it, and walking away from the whole thing.