Exhaustion

Can I tell you something? I was ready to go back to bed by the time my husband left for work this morning.

"You're taking him with you, right?" I asked as the grown male person grabbed his keys.

I love my son. I adore him. He's my favorite. But I'm tired. And I don't mean "we're still not sleeping through the night" tired (though that's a huge part of it). I mean complete physical and emotional exhaustion, and I don't see an end within sight.

First, a few months ago, Mal had gotten to the point where he was only waking 4-6 times per night (those of you who have children who, like my first, are great sleepers, will cringe at that "only," but it was a definite improvement). Some times, he'd sleep through from the time he went to bed at 9:45-10:30 until 2. Once, he even slept until 4. Now we're getting somewhere!

Then he started skipping naps. At first, a couple of days a week. Now, he might nap once a week, but his norm is not to. If he falls asleep in the car, he might catch 20 minutes or so, and that's preferable to nothing, but typically, he's just up from whenever he gets up (which was 6:15 yesterday, but is usually closer to 7) until he goes to bed at night.

When THAT is varies, too. Yesterday, he tried to drift off at 5:30, but 6:30 is really the earliest I feel comfortable letting him doze off. So I kept waking him. He ended up staying awake until 7:40.

The nice part of the early bedtime is my having a few moments to my own thoughts and pursuits after he goes to bed. The down side is that 3/4 of the time, instead of sleeping through a few hours, he sleeps a while, wakes up, needs help resettling, and it ends up being a 2-3 hour process, like taking a true nap before he settles in for nighttime sleep.

Last night, by the time the Presidential Debate was over, he'd awakened 3 times (once it was a matter of my putting him back to sleep, using the restroom, and as I was walking back into the living room to watch, he was already crying for me). I was so tired and frustrated, I ended up just going to bed at 9:30.

Then Mal was awake very often, more times than I care to count, but I'd guess 10-12 times before 5 AM, after which time he woke up any time he unlatched from nursing. So we nursed constantly from 5 until he was ready to get out of bed at 7:15.

Now you can understand why I don't feel rested most mornings.

And if he were groggy and slow to wake, we could muddle along together in the mornings. But that's never the case.

He jumps out of bed with an enthusiastic, "Eat!" or "B!" (computer) or "Pak!" (park). This morning, it was all three. And he cried when I was physically unable to produce food, log into the computer to pull up a video, AND make sure he could swing simultaneously, eight seconds after I'd first sat upright for the day.

I started a video for him and pulled some food together, then started James' coffee and toast and sausage, and Mal and I headed into his room. After a few, Mal wanted to read a book, which he brought me, sitting in my lap regardless of the fact that I, too, was eating.

I closed the laptop to read the book, but he didn't like that, so he abandoned the book and opened the laptop. After about 1/4 of a song, he got the book back and closed the laptop himself. I read the book and said I was going to go finish up James' breakfast, at which time Mal said, "Deedees!" (which is how he's referring to "nursies" this week, I guess).

So.

We nursed, and I got up. He came into the kitchen crying and demanding. He wanted his dad's breakfast, which was exactly the same as his. He wanted a frozen yogurt tube. He wanted an apple. He wanted juice. He wanted a spoonful of sugar. He wanted a carrot I was peeling for our slow cooker roast dinner.

He wanted to ride on his horse. He wanted to watch more videos. He wanted to sit in a different seat. He wanted to stand on the cabinet. He wanted me to put toothpaste on a toothbrush he'd found in a drawer in his bedroom.

I went and got him toothpaste, and he chewed on the toothbrush for a moment before throwing it down and coming back for more food. He looked in the freezer and didn't like what he saw. He wanted his dad's lunch.

Then he disappeared around the corner to our room and I got the dinner prep finished. I knew to be afraid of what I'd find in the bathroom, but I loaded the dishwasher and started it before I went into the other room.

Fortunately, he was just standing in James' sink, talking about brushing his teeth, and gumming up the mirrors (which I clean on Mondays, anyway). I got him down, and we went into the other room.

He wanted this. He wanted that. He wanted to go to the gym, and the trampoline park, and the park with the swing. And I'm exhausted; I don't want to go anywhere for a while. I want to go slowly. He wants James' guitar. Not the one that's out and that he can play with, but the electric one that's in a case and that, every time he gets out, he gets so mad and screams because he wants to do something with it that none of us understands.

He cries in frustration when he can't open the case by himself. He cries in frustration when his attempts to bring me the case don't work as it's wedged in behind a chair. Then he SCREAMS when I tell him we're not opening it right now, and set it back up.

As a distraction, I go into the bathroom to clean it. He follows me in there. He usually likes to wipe stuff down. This time, though, he decides he wants to use the toilet. While I'm cleaning it. And it's pretty nasty, so I tell him to let me finish cleaning it, then we'll use it (if we were actually potty training, I'd drop it and throw him up there). He doesn't like my idea and keeps trying to put the seat down on top of my hands.

Finally, I get him set up and he's actually pooped already, so I have to go get stuff to clean that up. Fortunately, he sits still for all of it, but then I have to reclean the toilet, anyway.

When I finish that up, he decides it's time to go somewhere. He asks me, "Pak. Opu?" "The park is open, but we're not going anywhere right now." He goes to the door and when I don't follow him, he cries.

I go back into the bathroom to get the rest of the cleaning stuff, and... it's quiet. When I return to the kitchen, Mal's up on the counter, heading toward the sugar. This time, I tell him that I'll just get him some sugar, which I do after I put him on the floor. Two teaspoons later, and he's no longer obsessed with the idea. Sometimes it's easier that way.

I see that he's once again scratched his face, so we head into his room to trim his nails (again) and have a nice few minutes playing with a teddy bear book his grandma made him.

Then he gets out a toy drill whose batteries are dying. I go get the mini-tool kit to open it up. AAA. Go back to get batteries, and when I get back into Mal's room, he's pulled every mini screwdriver, bit, and attachment out of the tool kit.

We get the drill back up and running, and by the time I get the tools reorganized, he's bored with the drill and wants something else. I don't remember what. But I remember his crying.


It's 10 o'clock and I am ready for lunch. I've thought about that a lot lately. One reason I think the calorie-tracking and cutting back is so not freaking fun for me is that I don't get many breaks (James did take Mal on several "adventures" this weekend, so I *do* get some down time, and I appreciate that), and eating food I really enjoy is that my taste buds can have a big old party, even if the rest of me just wants to crawl back into bed.

Oh, also, I'm on DAY TEN of my period. And this convergence of stuff is why I had pb&j trail mix, a Little Debbie bat brownie, and a Hostess cupcake for lunch. And, yes, I counted it all. I'll still be within my allotment. The cupcake was an accident. I meant to grab a brownie and grabbed the wrong thing. And, yes, I had to eat it. I didn't want to hurt its feelings.

I was doing something in the living room or kitchen or bathroom or something when Mal went into his room and after a few minutes started fussing. He came into the living room and was frustrated that he couldn't get the rest of the yogurt out of the tube on his own. I helped him, then went into his room knowing what I'd find. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, but I gotta remember to take messy food out of his room when I leave.

Anyway, at one point, Mal wanted some of my soda, which I gladly (kind of) offered to share. He got a bamboo straw, but I don't like the feel of that straw, and I didn't want it in my soda, so I got a silicone straw instead. That's typically what he uses, anyway, but because he hadn't picked it out this time, he was infuriated. He started screaming and crying --

(Aside: D showed me a video once, a game play-through. It's some horror game, and is supposed to be scary, but this one glitch makes the whole thing accidentally hilarious. Anyway, there's this dead baby ghost running through the house crying, and even when you can't see it, you can hear it. D said, "That's my life: a baby vaguely crying in the background." Guys, this kid cries A LOT. It's demoralizing. I get that it's how he communicates. I get it. But, still... it wears on a person after TWO YEARS.)

-- And I said, firmly, "You have to stop screaming because you're not getting your way!" I crouched down in front of him to take the straw, and was grabbing it rather roughly when I noticed his genuine tears. I said, "Mal, it doesn't always happen the way that you want it to happen. You have to learn how to be patient while we get things ready, and learn to appreciate things the way that they are. We're trying our best." Then I just sat there and kind of rubbed his back. He kept sobbing, but I could tell he was trying not to wail.

Eventually, I pulled him in for a hug, and he wrapped his arms around my neck and climbed into my lap.

When he felt better, he hopped up and ran into his room. I just sat there, crouched in the floor, absolutely no energy. He noticed, came back, and leaned in for another quick hug.

I think God gives me those moments to help recharge me; otherwise, I'd probably just lie in the fetal position some days.

James said this weekend, "I never thought I'd be a TV-babysitter dad." And he's not. But Mal likes to watch music videos (and, recently, PBS Kids, which is a nice change to the 20-something songs we've listened to over and over again for a year) and, frankly, at times it's the only way to divert his intensity away from demanding things of us. So we never suggest, "Let's watch some TV!" but if he asks for it, we almost never refuse him, unless we're trying to get out of the house for something.

It's how I was able to write this blog post.

Not sure this post has a point. Mostly whining. And now Mal wants "Deedees," so I have to go.

This is Mal's first superhero. He looked and looked and he wanted one with hair. :D