Yep, Still Bad
Still not prepared for the bad days when they come. E’s sleep has gotten worse, not better — we’re in week two of nights where A and I get a few hours of sleep each, an hour at a time, and E sleeps on us. It is bad, it is bad, it is bad. And yet we get up, we take turns going to work, we feed the baby, we play with the baby, we do PT and OT and ST with the baby, we try to nap with the baby, we cry in the bathroom. It is a segmented, turn-taking existence. We take turns with our bad days, too — but there is some overlap. I think we’re in that overlap now.
I am still trying to track the Bad Badness with science, aka my pen and the calendar. I thought of it today while taking a break in the bathroom. I thought of how many days I had marked with “E bad sleep” and then thought I could mark today with an X for my own (first noticed) bad day. I should probably get a blank calendar and devote it just to this, I thought. And then I thought about my pregnancy calendar. All the stupid, foolish, giddy notes to myself and to A and most of all to my future baby, who will likely never read them. Names, feelings, jokes, plans. All gone. I don’t even know where that calendar is now — I don’t think I threw it away. But it feels like I trashed it in my head.
So I spent a lot longer than I planned to in the bathroom.
It feels gross to be so sad about this still, when people die every day in senseless ways, and the recent news is so depressing. That probably feeds this sadness, though. Sadness is pretty contagious, and sadnesses probably amplify each other. But I hate it. I’m still stuck down the well and I can’t get out, and to hear “But you’re a great mom! You’re doing a great job!” DOESN’T FUCKING HELP AT ALL. In fact, it’s harder than ever to hear, and just adds to the sadness. It feels about as helpful as do all those fucking “thoughts and prayers” in the wake of yet another gun massacre.
Um Right Sleep
As for sleep solutions from the medical side: pediatrician (in our final visit before we move) could only recommend full extinction crying it out, and was very quick to say, “It might not work anyway. But good luck!” I cried in the office. Which, whatever, I cry everywhere now. And also it doesn’t matter it’s our last time there and he’s probably seen dozens and dozens of sobbing parents.
I don’t know if we can do it. We’re going to try it in a few days, for a few days. It’s hard to communicate how weird of a process it is. He’ll cry and cry and cry for hours, then fall asleep for ten-fifteen minutes, then jerk awake and cry and cry and cry for hours more. He is sodden with sweat, his hair wet like he’s been in the bath. He scratches himself through his clothes.
Yes — I realize I need to man up, woman up, vag up, whatever. Put on my beast boots and get done what needs to get done. It is so hard and I am so tired.
But Never Mind
After writing all this, I went on twitter and read the storify of the Trump Greensboro rally. Did wonders for my bad day and bad feelings, surprisingly. I wonder if these events were televised (like, on C-SPAN? Ha ha ha, right, because those would be the credentials DT would yoink next), if there would be more shame about the naked hatred at them? Wonder how the Repub National Convention will go. Not looking forward to another five months of this.