Almost Too Tired to Post About Being Tired

I’ve heard of sleep walking. Last night, I witnessed sleep breastfeeding.

It’s quite the story. But first, background on where we are:

Everyone told us lack of sleep is an issue with a newborn.  But until you experience the bleary-eyed, zombie-like reality of it, you have no idea what havoc a screaming child will wreak on your life. (I use “screaming” when I describe her actions instead of crying because I really don’t see a lot of tears coming during one of her “fits.” What I do see is a lot of tonsil. This child could put Axl Rose to shame.)

Since when does one celebrate getting four hours of sleep in a night? Since Sydney Grace Gregg came into the world.

In the hospital, we wanted to be super parents. The first night, they highly recommended she go to the nursery because of the long labor we’d been through. That was fine. But the next night, we wanted her in the room with us. One, because we wanted to be with her and two, because we knew we had to get used to nights with her.

Well, about midnight, she made a bit of a gurgling noise and I looked over to see her choking. I jumped up and grabbed her and noticed she was beet red and trying to scream but nothing was coming out. I turned her to her side and cleared her airway as she gasped for breath. The doctors later told us she probably was choking on amniotic fluid.

That was all we needed to confirm we’d need eyes on her 24-7. We did not sleep the rest of the night or into the next day. Now, by the next night, we were exhausted. She was awake and crying. NOT a good combination. If I did not have a shaved head, I would have pulled my hair out.

We finally gave up and sent her to the nursery. So much for super parents. Only one night into it and I had already abandoned my daughter.  So far, my parenting skills are on par with Britney Spears.

Our first night home was our first night without a safety net. The baby was up until 6:30 a.m. The next night was ok, but the third night, she was up until 7 a.m. It is not that she didn’t sleep, but she would go to bed at about 11 or midnight, wake up at 2 a.m. or so and stay up until the morning.

And this is not “up” and looking around curiously wondering what is happening with the world. This is “up” and doing her impersonation of a fire engine siren. There are periods of calmness, but most of it is screaming. My daughter has not yet grasped the concept that she can be awake and happy, or simply awake and silent. If she is awake, she is generally conditioning her lungs for a career as an opera singer. She is either sleeping, eating or screaming.

I attribute this all to gas bubbles. I have noticed her quietly trying to fall asleep when, all of the sudden, her face contorts like Joe Cocker and her body starts writhing like a scene from The Exorcist. This inevitably culminates in a scream. Then, a couple minutes later, she is back to normal. Sometimes, in between, she burps or passes gas. I have to believe her fits are the result of gas wreaking havoc on her tiny digestive system. We are now using baby gas drops from Walgreen’s.

These late nights have made her mom and dad walking zombies. I crave sleep like Charlie Sheen craves high-end prostitutes. Does anyone know a good meth dealer? I’ve been working as needed the past two weeks and I have shown up at the office with bloodshot eyes and a strong desire to crawl under my desk for a George Costanza-like nap.

We’ve heard the quality advice: sleep when she sleeps. Easier said than done. There are a lot of things that need to be done around here. For example, this damn blog. I was up until 3 a.m. last night and then had to give a talk to foster parents this morning. I am so tired right now I can barely find the energy to post about how tired I am.

My poor wife has it worse than me. Even though I wake up for the breastfeeding, she actually does it. I can help position the pillows and keep Sydney awake, but honestly, I find myself falling back to sleep during some of those late-night feedings. Brooke must endure, although even she will admit to dozing off in the middle sometimes.

But nothing was as bad as what I witnessed last night. We finally got Sydney down at about 3 a.m. and I fell into a pretty deep sleep. But something stirred me at 4:30 a.m. I woke to find my wife sitting straight up next to me, her breast in her hand, ready for feeding time. She was awake, but not moving.

I looked in Sydney’s direction and noticed she was sitting in her perch as quiet as can be, still sleeping. Befuddled, I said, “Honey, what are you doing?” She looked at me, looked down at herself then looked over at a sleeping Sydney. She sighed, dropped her boob and sunk down into the bed for more shuteye. Never said a word.

I remained befuddled. I wanted to know what the hell was going on, but, to be honest, I was just too tired to investigate. I rolled over and closed my eyes.