I know in all the talk about urine and lactaction woes my mutterings about Jasper and his decision to not eat and sleep (I breed nothing if not over-achievers) may have been a bit overshadowed.
But seriously people. I know it’s a phase. I know it’s age appropriate.
But it truly TRULY sucks.
This is why all first time parents should never have the second child until the first is at least two. Because you’d probably never breed again and world population issues would be resolved in one.
Then there are those of us who are fertile and careless.
As I type we’re a good half hour into a scream alert.
He’s mastered climbing out of his cot. That was Tuesday’s achievement.
He can even do it in his sleeping bag, that is literally a bag, as in, not one of those ones that has feet in it.
He’s gone very quiet which either means his playing with the electrical outlet or has fallen asleep on the floor.
Or perhaps even opted for moderate comfort in the ‘big boys’ bed we made up in there today (that had artfully been a
dumping zone daybed until now).
Either way I really don’t care because at least the screaming has stopped.
The screaming which gives me this unique headache all on its own. The one deep in your head, behind my left eye.
The thing is, the night waking – in my theory – is intricately linked to the not eating. Seriously. NOT eating. And it’s not like I only have one child so can just feed him lasagne every night. There are older boys and sheesh even ADULTS to consider. And he’s so FREAKIN’ fickle that sure, he ate three serves of lasagne the last time I served it up, but he ate yoghurt yesterday and flatly refused it today, so there’s no way on GOD’S OWN EARTH I’m creating (because you create, not make lasagne) lasagne for him to just go ‘nah, I’ll wake up two or three times during the night tonight and scream the house down instead’.
The screaming has resulted in him having these tiny pinhead size dots under his eyes, which I’m guessing are BURST BLOOD VESSELS. From all the FREAKIN’ CRYING. Jesus, I can turn on a performance but this kid’s ragin’ it out is even giving Felix’s dark years a run for their money.
So here’s where we cut to the chase.
I’ve been here before. And I know how utterly soul destroying it becomes. This battle of the wills (it lasted oh, THREE FUCKING YEARS with Felix).
And I know we just have to ride it out.
I’m psyching myself up for the cold turkey bottle removal (as it is he has 2-3 a day and never before meal times because yeah, I parent a horde so I know the tricks them young ‘uns try in filling up on milk or juice to avoid that whole boring drill of sitting down and damn having to chew something) which will probably make it all worse before it gets better.
At least he’s now saying bot-bot (what we call bottle) – another word on the – I think – extremely short list of words J can say*. Maybe I’ll give him until he’s 2, which was my original plan.
So on reflection, this is just a whinge.
At least it’s not about my bits I guess.
And now, in some bizarre stand-off, I’m left sitting here in the backroom, with him probably slumped (by the sounds of it) against his door. Me – too scared to move for fear he wakes/realises the game is up and starts screaming again and him – to tired/scared/incapable of getting the door open and escaping. Or something.
*When I raised it with the early childhood nurse – and when she asked why I was worried and I said because Felix was talking in sentences by 18 months and had three word groupings at 16 she looked at me all worldly like and said, ‘they’re all different’. Clearly when it comes to being able to scream and not sleep, not so dear Lady, not so.