Sometimes being a mom is hard. Rewarding, joyful, life-changing, absolutely. But also, difficult. In our house these days, it's particularly hard to be a mom (or dad) between the hours of 3 and 5 am.
We've been tweeking and changing various aspects of Jace's routine slightly to see if it helps him stay asleep, and it at first appears to work. The little angel sleeps through the night! But, we've learned, it's merely a cruel psychological ploy to wreak havoc on our increasingly fragile sanity. Because when we do exactly the same thing the following night, he returns to waking around 3 and cries until 5. What the cuss?! I know I shouldn't be complaining because an 8 hour stretch at night is awesome (knock wood). Good job Jace! But waking up at 3 and screaming for two hours isn't ideal, am I right?
I try and tell myself it's just a phase and eventually, one day, he'll sleep more consistently. Then I feel guilty for wishing these days away, because they are short and soon he won't be my baby anymore. And then I feel sort of ashamed, because it's my fault he isn't sleeping. I must not be doing something right; there's something I'm missing. I've discovered this weird quirk in myself that I didn't know existed until Jace was born: for some reason, I associate good sleeping with good mothering. If Jace isn't sleeping through the night when the doctor says he is old enough to be doing so, I just must not be doing this whole mom-thing very well. Is it just me, or do all moms experience this frustration-guilt-self doubt cycle?
However, he generally wakes up in the morning happy as a clam at high tide. So at least there's that. And those smiles. And those blue eyes....and chubby legs... and giggles.
There's that.
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