Growing Pains

In the last week or so there have been many moments I've wanted to sit down and blog but then I thought, "Why don't I just spare everyone the screeching sound of my whine." I just haven't been in a very good space lately. It feels like everything is happening at once and for a week and a half there I was exhausted, short-tempered, and all "woe is me, I can't handle this", which is not my usual self.

Night weaning has been more challenging than I thought. All the research I did seemed to indicate that in a week or two, shabam, the baby would be sleeping through the night. But we have one of those awesome, dynamic, complex, fun, energetic type babies who defies categorization. For him so far, night weaning has meant sleeping much less at night.

The main thing is that it seems to have thrown off his whole digestive cycle, so that while previously he was pretty, er, regular....suddenly he was having 4 poos a day. Unfortunately, the last poo would come in the late evening. It became a very frustrating routine--try to get him to sleep for almost an hour, give up and bring him into the living room, and watch him immediately grunt one out. Eureka! Then he would fall asleep immediately.

After last Saturday night's fiasco, I re-evaluated and realized that if he goes to bed at 8:00 then 7 hours without nursing (our planned goal) comes at 3 am. And by poo indications, his body was used to the cycle of nursing he had gotten into, so maybe he truly was hungry by the time I refused to nurse him at the 4am wake up and that was keeping him up. He's not a good eater by day, and still gets a lot of nutrition from my milk. So I decided to ease it up a bit, and let him nurse at that 4am wake up, and drop it after he seemed used to the 7-8 hour stretch.

Sadly, though, that nursing seems to kick his system into gear and he's been waking up at 5:30, on average, ready to get down and grunt one out again. So...for about a week and a half he's been late to bed, early to rise, and we've all been at the mercy of his bowels.

This would be manageable stuff if it wasn't for the two complicating factors: first, we're moving, and second, he's almost 2 now. So take one exhausted, busy to distraction mother and one exhausted, confused by all the boxes baby who has recently learned what a temper tantrum is and--you probably can imagine the rest. He's been regularly treating us to fantastic displays of his emerging will, in the form of crying and repeating his demands: "Move chair, move chair"; "No pants, no pants," over and over, accompanied by sobbing and screaming.

If I'm centered, I can usually find a way to approach him gently, hold him tight, remove him to a calm space, and sing him into peace again. If I'm not centered, which is often lately, I find myself responding more like "Boodge, I said NO MOVE CHAIR! I'm not moving the chair! You've got to CALM DOWN! Fine, just cry, I'm going to read this magazine. Whatever!" It's not a response I feel proud of, and it doesn't help the situation one iota.

They say you can ignore these tantrums and just let them pass over, and that's what I thought I would do. Not exactly ignore...but lovingly witness. I don't mind sitting with him while he releases all the pent up frustration and confusion he's feeling over the changes in his life and his own powerlessness in the world. But it goes on for so long, and I can't help feeling like if I don't step in and actively help him regain control of his body and spirit, it will never end. My loving, passive presence just doesn't seem to be enough.

So that's why I've been sparing you regular blogging rants about how miserable I am. But things do seem to be stabilizing. He actually slept until 6:30 today, and getting up at 6:30 has never felt so good. And he seems to be grunting out that last poo earlier, or not at all the last few nights. So we're all starting to get a little more sleep again, and sleep is a magic elixir.

Also, my mother-in-law has swooped in the last two days and worked maniacally, cleaning out the fridge, oven, closets, drawers and washing the walls. This has gotten me off my sorry ass too, and between us we've pretty much got this move licked. This side of it, anyway, and my Mama is coming to help on the other end. All that working has resulted in a few more meltdowns on the Boodge's part, but I'm getting better at handling them with compassion and calm. And he's getting into the action too:


That there is the cleanest spot of wall you've ever seen in your life.

So I think we're gonna make it after all. We're stretching and growing over here, feeling the pains of it, but reaching deeper and finding again that we can survive. I will try to remain grateful for the blessings that change brings, and welcome the new growth in my child and myself. After all, as Sean's Irish uncle Tom said to me, "These are all wonderful problems to have."