To Sleep, or Not to Sleep? Definitely been not to sleep.

Oh the joys of being a parent. I love my crazy little family, probably more than words can express. We have our battles (any parent of a 2-year-old does), but for the most part life is good. We giggle, we love Mickey Mouse, we play the tickle-bug game, we hold hands, we read stories, and we generally get along.

Make no mistake, however, life in the Gorgeous Borges house isn't all sunshine and roses. Let me tell you a little story about how our world has turned into a bit of a nightmare of late. This story is otherwise known as "The Time that Mommy was a Big Chicken and it Ended up Biting her in the Butt. Bigtime." Let me begin:

Once upon a time a young couple decided to have a baby. This baby decided that from the day he was born, he was going to love sucking on a binky. In fact, for much of the first year of his life, it was rare to see him without it. And let's be honest, shall we? Babies with binkies are cute (and quiet). Anyway, this sweet little round-cheeked lad had a mommy and a daddy that thought they knew it all. They just knew that after his first birthday that little binky was going away. And then that sweet little monkey-boy turned 1. There was a little party with much cake-smashing. It was adorable, trust me. But that sweet little monkey-boy's mommy was a big fat pushover, and his daddy was the ultimate softy. On the night of his first birthday, that little boy went to bed contentedly sucking away at his binky. So, the mommy and the daddy decided that for a little while he could keep it for awhile, but only when he was in his bed.
After about six months the mommy and the daddy decided it was time to (finally) grow a pair and take the binky away. So, one night they put the monkey-boy down without it. And he screamed, and he cried, and he wept and wailed and gnashed his teeth. It was not a pretty sight. So the mommy gave in and gave it back. And life was good. Everyone was sleeping, everyone was quiet, everyone was happy.
More time went on and the little boy turned 2. The mommy and the daddy decided it was time, once again, to try and take away the then-dubbed "bee-bee". It was a catastrophe. Mommy was a chicken and gave it back. And then finally, after much debate, it was decided that the bee-bee would go away forever in exchange for a Woody and Buzz doll. Everyone, including the monkey-boy, was agreeable to this plan... Until the dreadful day arrived. The bee-bee went away. The mommy cut it up so she wouldn't be tempted to give it back. She showed the cut-up bee-bee to the child and into the trash it went.

And here we are, kids, nearly a full month later.  T-Bone is STILL crying himself to sleep pretty much every night. He's STILL waking up in the middle of the night and crying for Mommy and Daddy. He hasn't asked for the binky in 3 weeks, but he's still being a damned stubborn little man about the whole thing. So, if I seem a little off, it's from lack of sleep. And if I don't hear something you say it's because my ears are still ringing from all the screams. And if I seem a little reluctant to leave the monkey-boy with someone else while Greasemonkey and I go out of town, it's for the sake of the caregiver's sanity.

So, please, I beg of you... pray for the sleep of my child, because this mommy is slowly turning into a zombie.

Updated to add: After 1 month of this nightmare we finally figured out the trick. He just wanted to be tucked in under his dinosaur blankie. If only he'd shared that info with me a month ago...

To Hell and Back

The last week or so has been really hard. But let me start at the beginning...

I've spent the last month-ish coming off my anti-depressants. I went on them shortly after T-Bone was born to help with my PPD, and they did.  I felt "normal" again. Then after about 9 months I decided it was probably time to try living life without it. I talked to the midwives and they recommended that I wait until winter was over.

So after I miscarried, I decided that it was finally time to bite the bullet and try to detox myself. I did a lot of research on the best way to wean myself down.  After about 6 weeks, I was finally done.  Because I did a slow wean I didn't experience any of the untoward effects that can come with getting some anti-depressants out of your system. (Apparently it is akin to detoxing off of heroin.  Glad I didn't have to go there).

Anyway, about the time I was down to just 1-2 doses per week, T-Bone decided that he was done sleeping until 8 am. Ugh. I don't do 5:30 in the morning unless I'm at the tail-end of working a night shift, and I especially don't do it with a whiney 1 year old. After much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth (mostly from me, a little bit from him) we got him sleeping until after 6. Praise the Gods of toddler sleep! 

But the plot thickens...

I was already on edge from lack of sleep, as anyone would be, right?  Well, on Tuesday I was having a conversation with T-Bone's wonderful babysitter, Katie.  She has been watching him for a few hours every Tuesday while Greasemonkey and I cross shifts. She has been such a blessing in our lives.  I have never once worried about leaving T-Bone with her because I know she just treats him like one of her own kids. I also love the environment she can expose him to, that I am just not capable of exposing him to. See, Katie is blessed with adopted kids, so every Tuesday they go to adopted kids playgroup.  I LOVE that Tommy gets to be involved in that, because it's not an experience I am able to give him. Anyway, back to our conversation: after some back and forth about my family watching him this summer, she told me that with her daughter starting kindergarten this fall, her schedule is going to be such that she can't commit to taking T-Bone once school starts back up.  I completely understand where she's coming from, and she's got to do what's best for her family. However, that didn't stop my heart from dropping just a little bit. Any of you that are moms will understand. When you find a sitter as good as the one I have, you want to hold on with a death grip and fight for them tooth and nail. So, thank you to Katie for a wonderful 9 months being a second mom to my sweet T-Bone.  (And yes, I had a mini-meltdown at work when I realized all of this)

And then poor Greasemonkey couldn't do anything right.  I yelled at him for putting the baby down for a nap, for crying out loud.  It seemed like every little thing set me off.

And then there was the usual Sunday drama.

And then Monday rolled around.  "Great!" I thought, "We can start fresh with a new week." Well, Greasemonkey got stuck working a long day at work. And T-Bone couldn't seem to find any voice but a whiney one. And so I decided to brave the grocery store by myself. T-Bone did great!  He was happy, smiley, and helpful.  We got to the checkout line, got everything rung up, and sweet mother of all things annoying, I forgot my wallet.  Seriously? I forgot my freaking wallet. So I called up the husband to come rescue me.  He got stuck getting off the freeway (there was an accident blocking the off ramp), but he came and paid for our groceries. We finished out our day, and I collapsed into bed.

Today (Tuesday) started out fairly well.  We started our day at 6:45, which is tolerable, and T-Bone was actually in a good mood. I came into work... and it hit the fan.  Greasemonkey called me in a panic saying he was stuck at work, and wondering if there was any way I could go get T-Bone from Katie's house. He was panicked, which made me panic, which was not a pretty sight. I burst into tears for the 700th time in the last week (seriously, ask my mom... I think I had 5 meltdowns at Sunday dinner, alone) and came to the following conclusion:

It's time to go back on my medication. I tried to live without it, and I failed.  And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.  If the balance that a small dose of antidepressant brings is what I need to be an effective wife, mom, nurse, friend, whatever, then so be it.  I will gladly take that little blue pill every day if it means a better life for my baby, my husband, and myself.