sun’s up

Years ago, we thought we were good parents.

I had one sweet, precious baby boy. An easy singular child. I only thought I knew love before he existed. He slept through the night from the get go. He hardly ever cried. He was so good, our lives barely changed. We took him with us everywhere and he was our cool little sidekick. An accessory like one of those little Paris Hilton Chihuahuas, except a tiny baby human in cute outfits. I honest to goodness thought I was a natural, with no idea why some of my friends were having so many troubles with their own babies. They looked tired. Poor them. 

Then God laughed. 

Looking back, I was the picture of young naivety. Also, that blessed first born bouncing baby boy was what one would refer to in the mothering world, as a trick baby. They’re necessary. I have a theory that if trick babies didn’t exist, the population would cease to exist, as well. When trick baby turned 2.5 and into an adorable toddler with boundless energy, we had a daughter. I mean, it was so easy the first time, right?

God: CNTRL + ALT + SMITE

It would start in the afternoons, intermittently. Then on cue every night, all night. She cried and cried and cried… relentless screaming. Colic and reflux was the diagnosis, and we were miserable. It was so bad, we had to take her for scans and testing. We tried everything. Driving. Holding. Co-sleeping. Rocking. Naps in a swing with the hair dryer… {I went through about five hair dryers that year, and no, don’t try that at home}. The house was covered in projectile baby voms that would give The Exorcist set a run for their money.

We were a hot mess. 

I remember trying to take on freelance jobs during that time, as a graphic designer. No, I wasn’t crazy. We needed the money. I was so tired, when the client asked me if what I created was “clip art” in response to a job, I sent a catty email to Jamin about it, venting.

Only that email intended for venting, was straight to the actual client, instead.

Sleep deprivation will legit lower your I.Q., guys.

I wanted to crawl under the sofa, and DIE. 
Lucky me, the client was also a friend with a good sense of humor who knew I was currently ‘in a place’. And in all fairness, maybe never ever call an artists’ creation ‘clip art’, no matter what phase they’re in, particularly one sleep deprived mother three months postpartum. It’s funny now, but in the moment… not so much.

We had to remind ourselves that this sweet baby girl didn’t feel well. We had to take it in shifts, and then as a support group together because her condition was so exhausting, it was important to have each other there, helping. It wasn’t like we could sleep anyway, with all that wailing in a small house. We love her, but if you’re a parent, you know. After crying all night, she would finally fall asleep around four in the morning.

She was getting her days and nights confused, and we would collapse into bed with her once she finally stopped. Just as we were drifting into a level of exhausted sleep that only new parents can possibly understand, the overhead lights would flip on. 

“SUN’S UP!” Our once-favorite first born child would exclaim from the bedroom doorway, excited to begin the day. “TIME TO GET UP!”

And this became a thing.

Every morning, just as we were falling into a dreamless sleep that our brains desperately needed to repair themselves, he would wake us right the freak up by yelling and turning on the light.

The third time our child did this, I remember Jamin hurling a pillow at him from his position in the bed, which actually made contact, knocking said child flat on his bottom. We both couldn’t believe Jamin actually nailed him, since he only did it to be funny. God bless that oldest child and his resilience. He responded with giggles, like this was all one big game. No, it wasn’t our finest moment as parents. We were worn down. So we both took a blood oath and great comfort in that moment, knowing that we would use his early morning waking skills against him one day.

Healthy coping mechanisms 101.

So, we barely survived that first year. And if you’re curious about the rest of the story, {if you’re not, I’m going to tell you anyway}… right when she started to sleep through the night at eleven months old, I thought I had the flu. But before taking those meds the doctor prescribed, I thought these symptoms seemed a little familiar. I remember walking into the kitchen while our two babies chased our dog around the kitchen island. I’m pretty sure one of them had a fist full of dog food. I had a pregnancy test in my hand. Jamin gave me a quick glance, and then said he didn’t want to know until after Thanksgiving, whilst prying said dog food out of little fingers.

I laugh-cried in response, and slammed the test on the counter. We were eight weeks in. 

I’ve always required lots of sleep, so I barely made it through those early years. I felt like such a wimp, talking to my aforementioned friends who had a rough go from the beginning, and they were basically marathon champs contrasted to my inability to merely rise from bed.

You know what they say Karma is. 

So fast forward one more child {that surprise after reality baby-we absolutely adore them all}, AND thirteen years later. 

I’m at that AMAZING stage of life where all the hard work at the beginning, actually paid off.

I’m at that stage of my life, where the kids tuck me in. 

So if you’re reading this, and you’re in the middle of that colicky baby phase, know that there is a light at the end of that consistently stained clothing, it’s a risk to take a shower, dirty diapers and what-day- is-it, muddled confusion of a tunnel. 

When we take them to the doctor for their physicals, I may not be able to answer that question about their actual vegetable intake, or their screen time amounts this year, which have been kinda ridiculous {we try}. And if they ask me on the fly about their birthdays, I have to stop and count. I certainly can’t answer in numbers only, because anxiety and math. But you know what I’m winning at? We’re definitely getting our sleep around here.

They complain about bedtimes that are too early. 

This is because you can find me in bed most nights by about 8:30 at the latest, if I’m not working on a deadline. I’m compensating for my younger years, and I’m perched atop my heating pad. In the winter, it’s more around 7. It’s Netflix time. But I’m definitely shutting it down. 

It’s full-on pajamas as soon as I get home, which is why I crawl like a ninja to the window if anyone comes to the door unexpectedly. What kind of sadist wears jeans at home? Or answers the door? Murder victims, that’s who. And no, SUSAN, that’s not rude. It’s called send me a text first, and if I don’t know you, GET OFF MAH DEADGUM PROPERTAAAYYYY.

But back to the heating pad, because I have no idea why I just morphed into an 80 year old man, angry at children for playing on his lawn. I’m really an 80 year old lady because I have two heating pads. One at my desk. One at my bedside. Sometimes I’ll plug in both if I’m feeling extra cold and sore and grumpy. 

Jamin shared some article about heating pad addiction the other day, and then I reported him on Facebook for fake news, because I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. 

I said all that to say, I believe in sleep. It’s the cure all to everything. However, my children are no longer colicky babies, and they like to stay up on the weekends. So, we’ve worked out a system.

If they promise to go to bed by a predetermined time, they can come tuck us in first. 

No worries, because they’re not at the devious, sneak-out-and-put-the-car-in-neutral-roll-it-down-the-driveway, age. I mean, I only did that at my friend’s house because she had a super cool basement. And perhaps some really sleepy parents. I was a total rule follower, for the most part.

They’re at the can-we-stay-up-and-play-video-games-in-the-basement-because-sofa-beds-are-a-real-treat, phase. And because we have a ridiculous amount of security around the house, we’re able to let them know we’ll be watching. Even when we’re not. Which really just equates to we know one will rat the other out if they don’t all follow the rules.  

I know.

I’m enjoying it while it lasts. 

photo by the amazing light by iris photography

So, I’m officially at that stage of life where the kids tuck me in.

I’ve decided there’s definitely a bright side to this stage of life, and it only gets better. 

And in case you’re curious, we believe in blood oaths around here.

“SUN’S UP! TIME TO GET UP!” Is definitely a rally cap cry on difficult mornings, in which we take great pleasure when it comes to exacting some long-overdue revenge.

It’s always accompanied by the overhead lights. Maybe a few screams for fun, and the throwing of pillows and bedding for drama’s sake. Sun’s definitely up, suckas. 

So this passage of time has its pros, a chapter that has some major benefits kicking in. I’m at that stage of life where the kids tuck me in.

And it’s kind of awesome.

Sun’s up.