Sleep Issues. We haz them.
So, Ezra is a fantastic baby. Of course. Obviously. He is the cutest, bestest, smartest, funniest, happiest, amazingest baby in the whole world times infinity. Fact.
But the boy HATES going to sleep. Hates it with a fierce passion. The type of hatred one typically reserves for IRS audits or Holocaust deniers or that asshole right in front of me at Starbucks who ordered the last cheese danish.
The very second we try to lay him down to sleep for nap time or bedtime, my otherwise superhappy baby transforms into The Beast Who Shall Not Be Tamed. There is screaming and yelling and crying. Flailing and smacking. Rending of garments and gnashing of teeth. Heartbreak. Misery. Despair.
And after the forever long it takes to soothe him to sleep, the whole scene is usually repeated around 2 or 3 in the morning, when he wakes up and decides playing is so much better than stupid sleep.
I’m at a loss, really. Ezra hates being alone. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with rocking him to sleep if he needs it. I’m okay with us cosleeping. The thing he does as he drifts off to sleep? Where he grabs my finger tightly with one hand and then uses the other hand to rub my arm softly? It’s pretty much the sweetest thing ever. I’m going to be a sad panda the day he stops doing that.
But what is killing me is how hard he fights sleep no matter how exhausted he is. He’s been like that since he was a newborn, but now that he’s outgrown the swaddle and learned to sit and pull himself up on his own, it’s so much harder to keep him laying down long enough to close his eyes. And when one of us holds him down firmly, he just stares. Eyes locked wide open, barely allowing himself to blink. Because as soon as he closes his eyes, he starts to fall asleep, and this is just ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE. IT IS PARTY TIME PEOPLE, NOT SLEEP TIME!
After two increasingly frustrating hours trying to get him to take his nap yesterday, I actually yelled at him for the first time. He sat up and laughed at my “WHY WON’T YOU JUST SLEEP?!?!” outburst like it was the funniest joke he’s ever heard and I immediately felt like a giant douchebag and tried to relieve my guilt by taking him to the living room to play…so, yeah, Ezra: 100, Mommy: -100000000.
How does this ever end? We have a bedtime routine. We have baths and books. We have a relaxing, quiet environment. I’ve tried putting him to bed earlier. I’ve tried putting him to bed later. I’ve tried feeding him more or less. I’ve tried music and rocking and walking and white noise. I’ve tried tylenol and teething tablets in case it’s from any pain. I’ve taken him to the doctor to rule out anything more serious. I’ve read books and websites and tried everything I can think of (except for letting him cry it out, which I just don’t have the stomach for). I have NO IDEA what to do anymore. I mean, besides doing my best zombie impersonation every morning.
(I guess the one benefit to having horrible insomnia my whole life is that I’m pretty experienced in (just barely) getting by on a pitifully small amount of sleep. Yay? )