I'm going to start by being totally honest. Alice has actually slept through the night in her 16 months of life on the outside. It has happened. Not very often. I could probably count the number of times on all my digits, but it has happened. But let us also remember (or for those of you without kids tell you) that "sleeping through the night" is equivalent to 6 hours of sleep in a row. So yeah. Still not all the sleep needed in a night for a baby/toddler. There have even been a couple magical unicorn nights where she slept for 8 hours and once she slept for 10 hours all in a row. What the what?! Yeah. I didn't know what to do with myself those nights. Oh no wait . . . I spent a good deal of the night waking up worried that she wasn't breathing because sleeping that long is not something she does. My point is, full disclosure, "sleeping through the night" has occurred at our house. It's just rare. Those nights are the white tigers of our sleep world.
It's hard to know where to even begin. From day one she hasn't been the best sleeper. The first couple weeks of her life the only times she really slept well were being held by someone or in her car seat. She hated being flat on her back. We had a cradle that came with our pack and play that wasn't totally flat that she would sleep for a while in at night. But even then her stretches of sleep weren't that long. And naps, well naps could be a whole separate post. Let's just say naps were like the night. She wasn't great at them. We kept thinking, "She'll grow out of it" "It's a growth spurt so she needs to eat more" "Teething! (If all else fails it's teething)" "Gas drops will help" "Once we move her to her crib out of our room it will get better" "She needs to eat more closer to bed" "Once she starts eating cereal or "real food" it will get better" and other various reasons why she couldn't make it past 4 hours at the most. We're at 16 months and we're still wondering.
Going to bed isn't a problem. That part we actually have under control. She takes a bath, brushes her teeth, gets jammies on, we turn on the white noise machine, give her Lamby, read Goodnight Moon, turn the lights out, she nurses, I lay her down while saying her goodnight words, give her her blanket, start her music and then I leave. It's rare for her to not go down initially. On those nights I know we just need to buckle in because it's going to be a loooooooooong night. Our routine works (it was a proccess to get there believe me, but we got there). It's the staying asleep that is the problem. Most times she'll sleep for about 4ish hours and then wake up. After that it can range from only waking up once more before her final wake up to waking up every hour or couple of hours. It just depends. But an average night includes at least 2 wake ups and then her final wake up for the day in the morning (which happens anywhere from 5am to 8am).
We have tried all kinds of things for when she wakes up. We've tried "cry it out." She just continues to cry and scream. She doesn't give in (have I mentioned yet that she is a strong willed child?). It wasn't for us. We've tried going in, laying her back down, talking to her and leaving. Over and over. She just got more and more worked up and angry. We've tried staying in her room holding her and rocking/singing. We've tried walking around our upstairs in a circuit (which was our go to, but lately hasn't been working like it used to). We've tried car rides (which if we're at the end of our rope become our go to because the car always puts her to sleep when she's tired). We've tried snuggling in the family room for a bit or rocking in the rocking chair. And when nothing works (or I know she's hungry) she comes to our room to nurse and often times stays there. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes because we fall asleep. And every night at some point she ends up in bed with us for the rest of the night. She's woken up for good, in her crib, at an hour that is fit for us to be awake and functioning twice in her life.
Adam and I don't mind co-sleeping for the most part. Sometimes I'm tired of constantly being touched. Or used as a pacifier. Or not being able to sleep in the position I want to. He doesn't like being whacked by flailing appendages (he always get it worse than I do). But in general we're OK with it. However, I don't want her to immediately come to our bed the first time she wakes up. I want her to spend as long as possible in her own bed. While we get sleep when she's with us, we all get better sleep when she's not. So I know part of it is our own doing when she's upset and just wants to come to our bed and we're not letting her. But sometimes even co-sleeping doesn't work. Those nights are the worst. When nothing works.
The past month or so it's been worse for some reason. She used to sometimes thrash and push away when she was upset when we got her and held her. But usually before too long she'd calm down. And it didn't happen every time. Lately it happens every time and for a while. Plus she screams. I don't mean "cries loudly." I mean screams. And screams. And screams. We call it her "scream cry." That part is the hardest. Waking up several times a night is one thing. But add the screaming and fighting our comfort into the mix and the frustration level increases and reaches its peak much sooner. Especially if we're going on several nights of the same. Which leads us down a spiral that is hard to get out of. And then the guilt. Oh the guilt. "I can't comfort her, what is wrong with me?" "We did something wrong somewhere along the way and messed up her sleeping habits" "I was short with her and that wasn't good for either of us" "I can't do this" "Does walking away for a bit make me a bad mother? (I know it doesn't deep down, but I still think it sometimes)" "Is something wrong and I can't figure it out?" "I've checked her diaper, checked her temperature, given her gas drops, offered various forms of comfort, why can't I figure out what's wrong?" "I shouldn't be so frustrated, I know it could be worse. We could not have her." And the main question, "Why does she fight sleep so much? She is obviously tired. What is it that is keeping her from giving in?" It's probably a question a lot of us have asked and will never get an answer to.
We get enough sleep to function. I would say my average is around 5 hours a night. Some nights it's much closer to 4 and others it's much closer to 5, or over or under. The problem is that it's not in a row. It's cobbled together over the course of the night. I try to go to bed as early as I can, but we need clean clothes, and dishes, and to be able to walk around our house without tripping on something, and the dogs need attention, and sometimes I have work to do, and sometimes there's a funny smell in the fridge, and sometimes I have projects to do and in general I need some wind down time myself before I can sleep (although I will say I do tend to fall asleep faster these days than I used to, self preservation and whatnot). So while Alice has "slept through the night" in her life, I don't think I have since she's been born.
And don't get me wrong. I love her so very, very much. She's her own person and I love all of who she is, even the parts that are difficult (goodness knows I have more than my fair share myself). I wouldn't change her. I knew sleep deprivation was a part of parenthood. I will continue to get up with her, comfort her, snuggle her, soothe her, sing to her, bring her in with us, walk with her, rock her, read to her and love her. And deep down I'm thankful. I know what the other side is like. I know I could not have her. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't appreciate 6 hours of sleep in a row. On a consistent basis.
I am thankful for a husband who is with me in the struggle. For the other mothers and parents who are with me in the struggle. For their own stories they share. For the support they give. For solidarity. For the articles they share telling me not sleeping through the night is a sign of intelligence. For the blog posts written by other sleep deprived parents that find the humor in these nights and make me laugh. For reminding me when I feel guilty, because I don't think I'm being appreciative enough of what a gift I have in Alice, that all parents feel this way sometimes. I'm allowed to feel that way too. You make me sane again. You help me realize I'm not alone and that there is hope that someday she'll be a better sleeper. Thank you for being a part of my tribe.
My name is Amanda Browne, and I have not "slept through the night" since July 31st, 2014. What's your date? Share your tales of the night. We'll get through this together. Bring coffee. Always coffee.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Candlelight Service 2015
Yesterday was the annual Candlelight service given by the support group I attend. It's the third one I have attended and it still doesn't seem any less odd that this is my life. Most days the grief is pretty under control and while I carry it with me it is deeper in my heart, not close to the surface. While I appreciate the service and it does help me in many ways (remembering Madeline, reminding myself I'm not alone, visiting with people I have met and gotten to know through our common loss, seeing the new babies every year and watching them grow), it makes it real in a tangible way every year. Each year it seems to be something different that hits me during the service that just brings everything up to the surface again.
The first year it had been about 5 and a half months since we had lost Madeline. That year I was still fresh in my grief. I was still lost in the thoughts of "How is this my real life?" I also had just found out I was pregnant with Alice. So I was sitting there grieving for Madeline, thinking about the fact that I had her sibling growing inside me, worrying about my current pregnancy, feeling guilty that already my entire focus wasn't on Madeline, wondering if it was too soon, wondering how I was going to make it through the holidays, still at a loss for why this happened to us and so much more. It was a lot. And while it may sound like I just sat there being overwhelmed (and for a bit I did), I left feeling better than when I got there. I allowed myself to feel everything and let some of it out. I was surrounded by people who understood and I felt safe with. She was remembered by everyone who attended and that meant so much. One of my biggest fears/worries is that she'll be lost some day. When those of us who knew her or knew of her are gone, who will remember her?
The second year, last year, I had Alice, my Mom and a close family friend with me. It was important for me to go alone the first year (Adam has to work during the time of the service or he would have come too). I still can't explain why to this day. I just knew I needed to do it on my own. But the next year I was fine with other people coming with me. I know there are others who would get something out of the service too and I want them to have that opportunity. That year I kept thinking about how lucky we were to have Alice and that she was healthy and happy. I spent a lot of time comparing and thinking about what our holidays would look like if Madeline were there too. I thought about how this was now becoming a tradition and that hopefully it will help Alice feel some sort of connection to her sister someday. I thought about how much can change in a year. I thought about how it's possible to be so happy and so sad all at the same time. I thought about how it's possible to love two children and give them your time and emotions at different times even when one isn't with you. I thought about the balance I was trying to find in motherhood to living child and one who has passed away. Mostly I just snuggled Alice (who was still small enough to be OK with that) and cried tears of sadness and joy.
This year my Mom came with Alice and I again. As we went to the service I was feeling OK. I'd had a few "Madeline Days" in the past couple weeks, but was feeling better. I was feeling more like usual in that the grief wasn't close at hand. During the service there is a slide show with all of the names of the babies we are remembering and honoring. Whoever submits the name can also include whatever else they would like. Birth date, stats, quotes, poems, letters, anything really. As the slide show was rolling by, one letter caught my eye and struck me. It started with, "It's hard to believe you would be 11 years old this year!" I read that and the reality of, "This is my life. For the rest of my life. I will always not have her. I will always think about the 'what ifs' the 'should have beens' the 'if you were heres'" came crashing down on me. It's not like I ever think it will go away. But sometimes I either delude myself or get so caught up in the day to day of life that I don't really think about it. This is forever. For the rest of my life I will always be without her. It was powerful. Afterwards we spent time with some friends we've made through support group and it was so good to share these feelings with them. To feel like you're not crazy. To know you're not alone. That we're all still on this journey. All of us have now had children since our losses and it was also nice to share stories of them as well as assuage some of the Mommy guilt. The reminders that every parent gets frustrated and not to get too down on yourself because you know what the other side is like.
While these services are emotional and have moments of making the grief fresh again, they are worth all of it. I always feel more at ease when I leave. I feel closer to Madeline. I feel better that others thought of her too, most that had never met her. I still hope it will be a way for us to help Alice feel a connection to her sister. I leave feeling more filled with hope and love. I leave feeling lighter, some of the weight I had been carrying and didn't even realize (because I didn't let myself deal with it) is gone. Letting myself have that time to let things out, to cry, to feel everything helps. It lets me feel more positive as we move into Christmas. And most of all it reminds me of the love I had and still have for Madeline. And always will.
The first year it had been about 5 and a half months since we had lost Madeline. That year I was still fresh in my grief. I was still lost in the thoughts of "How is this my real life?" I also had just found out I was pregnant with Alice. So I was sitting there grieving for Madeline, thinking about the fact that I had her sibling growing inside me, worrying about my current pregnancy, feeling guilty that already my entire focus wasn't on Madeline, wondering if it was too soon, wondering how I was going to make it through the holidays, still at a loss for why this happened to us and so much more. It was a lot. And while it may sound like I just sat there being overwhelmed (and for a bit I did), I left feeling better than when I got there. I allowed myself to feel everything and let some of it out. I was surrounded by people who understood and I felt safe with. She was remembered by everyone who attended and that meant so much. One of my biggest fears/worries is that she'll be lost some day. When those of us who knew her or knew of her are gone, who will remember her?
The second year, last year, I had Alice, my Mom and a close family friend with me. It was important for me to go alone the first year (Adam has to work during the time of the service or he would have come too). I still can't explain why to this day. I just knew I needed to do it on my own. But the next year I was fine with other people coming with me. I know there are others who would get something out of the service too and I want them to have that opportunity. That year I kept thinking about how lucky we were to have Alice and that she was healthy and happy. I spent a lot of time comparing and thinking about what our holidays would look like if Madeline were there too. I thought about how this was now becoming a tradition and that hopefully it will help Alice feel some sort of connection to her sister someday. I thought about how much can change in a year. I thought about how it's possible to be so happy and so sad all at the same time. I thought about how it's possible to love two children and give them your time and emotions at different times even when one isn't with you. I thought about the balance I was trying to find in motherhood to living child and one who has passed away. Mostly I just snuggled Alice (who was still small enough to be OK with that) and cried tears of sadness and joy.
This year my Mom came with Alice and I again. As we went to the service I was feeling OK. I'd had a few "Madeline Days" in the past couple weeks, but was feeling better. I was feeling more like usual in that the grief wasn't close at hand. During the service there is a slide show with all of the names of the babies we are remembering and honoring. Whoever submits the name can also include whatever else they would like. Birth date, stats, quotes, poems, letters, anything really. As the slide show was rolling by, one letter caught my eye and struck me. It started with, "It's hard to believe you would be 11 years old this year!" I read that and the reality of, "This is my life. For the rest of my life. I will always not have her. I will always think about the 'what ifs' the 'should have beens' the 'if you were heres'" came crashing down on me. It's not like I ever think it will go away. But sometimes I either delude myself or get so caught up in the day to day of life that I don't really think about it. This is forever. For the rest of my life I will always be without her. It was powerful. Afterwards we spent time with some friends we've made through support group and it was so good to share these feelings with them. To feel like you're not crazy. To know you're not alone. That we're all still on this journey. All of us have now had children since our losses and it was also nice to share stories of them as well as assuage some of the Mommy guilt. The reminders that every parent gets frustrated and not to get too down on yourself because you know what the other side is like.
While these services are emotional and have moments of making the grief fresh again, they are worth all of it. I always feel more at ease when I leave. I feel closer to Madeline. I feel better that others thought of her too, most that had never met her. I still hope it will be a way for us to help Alice feel a connection to her sister. I leave feeling more filled with hope and love. I leave feeling lighter, some of the weight I had been carrying and didn't even realize (because I didn't let myself deal with it) is gone. Letting myself have that time to let things out, to cry, to feel everything helps. It lets me feel more positive as we move into Christmas. And most of all it reminds me of the love I had and still have for Madeline. And always will.
Madeline Claire Browne
6/26/13 - 6/26/13
"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart." -A.A. Milne
We love and miss you baby girl. Love, Mommy, Daddy and Alice
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