A Day at the Office

My work moved offices.  You should see our new building.  It is FABULOUS.  I have an office bigger than any of the bedrooms in my house (quite possibly bigger than our main living room) with a window bigger than a door.  We have swanky board rooms with flat screen TVs.  We even have a workout room (unequipped at the moment).  This place is POSH.  I'm loving it.  And I am terribly spoiled.  Here I am a part-time employee and I have my own huge office with a window and a door.  The lights come on automatically when you enter the office and dim in the afternoons when there is too much sunlight.  We are a certified GREEN building too, so that is really cool.  I dig saving the environment and what-not.

Only bad thing about this place is that it's added about 12 minutes to my 5 minute commute.  OK.  I know I shouldn't complain about THAT.  So I won't. 

It's so nice to be working part-time.  I used to hate Sundays because that meant the weekend was ending and I was going to have to endure 5 days in a row of waking up early and going to work.  Now I have no ill feelings toward Sunday.  I look forward to coming in to work.  I always wake up early now that Jane is around.  And the days that I stay home with her are most definitely harder than working out of my office all day.  The days I come in to the office are a breeze.  I really like my job and feel so efficient getting everything done in 3 days vs. the normal 5. 

So I'm pretty happy about my work situation.  I'm pretty happy about my home situation too (although we have foundation repair people coming next week to give us an estimate on fixing our sinking house and our kitchen has been taken over by ants).  OK, in all honesty I would love to move to a bigger and better house, but going part-time has slashed my take home pay by about 1/4 and upgrading just won't be possible until I return to work full-time (in about 8 years after my second child turns 5.  Well probably before then.  We shall see.)

Insert brilliant closing line that wraps this entry up nicely {HERE}.

Adventures in Being Awake at 3AM Continue...

It's official.  Jane is one.  We had her birthday party and despite the fact that none of my husband's family came, it was a great success.  (No, I'm not bitter.)  She had a wonderful day.  She woke up in a great mood...and it was like she just knew that day was her birthday party.  She loved showing off for everyone.  Jane loves people, so unlike her mother these days.

Anyway, last Tuesday was her actual birthday and that was the day I cracked.  I am chalking it up to a combination of PMS and consecutive nights of dismal sleep.  The night before her birthday she was all over the place.  She couldn't or wouldn't sleep.   And due to this fact, I simply snapped.  I don't know what went awry in my brain, but something in me just decided that this was unacceptable.  I am the parent of a one-year old who cannot sleep through the night.  Everyone else I know with babies (much younger than Jane, might I add) were complaining bitterly when their children woke just once during the night.  I was enraged.  Angry at these people for their petty complaints.  Oh boo hoo, you woke up ONE time.  You poor thing how will you ever make it?  And I was angry at Jane for making me feel so completely out of control.  I was desperate for sleep.  So desperate that once while I was driving to work I had to remind myself that I was in fact DRIVING and not in some weird limbo state between real life and la-la land.  I was literally seeing stars I was so tired. 

The worst part of it was that the morning of her birthday I was mean to her.  I did not tell her happy birthday.  I did not let her tag along behind me while I got ready.  I put her in her crib and let her scream and cry.  It's a horrible feeling but I didn't have anything left to give the poor child.  I left for work that morning without even saying good-bye to her. 

So my plan was to end it.  Not my life.  Not the co-sleeping.  But the night nursing.  We were going cold turkey.  I had to get ONE night of sleep.  It had been 365 days since I had slept more than 4 hours in a row.  I decided that I was going to spend the night with my parents AWAY from Jane and that my husband was going to take Jane.  It was up to him to deal with her.  I didn't care if he stayed up all night with her.  I had to get out.   I had to sleep. 

Well, 3 hours into my trial separation from Jane and right before I was about to drift off to a blissful 8 hours in a row, my husband called me.  Jane was hysterical.  She wouldn't sleep for him.  She couldn't catch her breath.  She missed me and I had to come home.  Well, I was in the car before he could finish his explanation.  Hearing her cry like that over the phone made me miserable.  I got home and she was despondent.  It took me a good hour to get her calmed down.  When she finally did fall asleep (3 hours after her normal bedtime) she was still shuddering from her cries.  I don't care how many people tell me that it's OK for her to cry.  Because it is NOT.  Not like that.  That was just wrong.

And now I feel as though I must insert that my husband is a good dad.  Jane loves her Dada.  He watches her every Wednesday and she loves it.  She takes naps for him quite easily.  He is an active father who helps out equally and has never once tried to get out of changing a poopy diaper.  There is just something in Jane that will not tolerate anyone but MOMMY after 6pm.  I must be the one to put her to sleep.  My husband cannot do it.  She will not allow it.  We've tried.  It has to be me.  Not Grammaw, not Dada.  MOMMY and only Mommy.  (poor mommy!!!!)

So after my big "meltdown" and decision to go away from Jane for one night and to night wean her, I am happy to say, I never got my 4+ hours of consecutive sleep and we are still nursing at night incessantly.  I am better now because we've had several nights of good (well, good for us) sleep.  But I'm not ready to commit myself to a week (or more?!) of no sleep that it is going to take to get her night weaned.  I don't know if I will ever be willing.  It's nice and easy to make a plan during the day and say you are going to stick with it no matter what.  But when it's 3AM and you haven't slept a wink and you have to go to work the next day (mind you I am an accountant and deal with MILLIONS of $$ every day), that plan quickly changes into "I must survive and will do whatever I have to just to get this child back to sleep".

What is the worst about this is that the day I was so miserable and completely unable to process any rational thought, I confided in a friend.  You know what I got?  "Answers".  Apparently, if I let her cry-it-out in a crib (yes for 6 hours in a row, it won't hurt her if she hyperventilates, throws up and faints) she will learn that she should give up and sleep.  I should also use white noise, put her to bed no earlier than 10pm and swaddle her (anyone ever try to swaddle a 1-year old?).  Gee, thanks for the tips "friend".  Nothing I was told was relevant but everyone in the world thinks they have the answers.  I guess when you complain like I do, people feel compelled to "help" you.  That's why I usually don't talk about my lack of sleep with my normal (eye roll) friends.  They really do drive me mad.  Especially because I know they think I am reaping what I sow for creating this "monster" that never sleeps. 

So, Jane is one.  We are still struggling with sleep.  And I still love her more than my next breath. 

My little birthday monster

Sweet Baby Jane

In one week I will be the mother to a 1-year old.  This is coming as a bit of a shock to me.  I just can't imagine how this happened.  I have a toddler now.  She is walking all over the place.  She can stand up on her own.  She's talking (nonsensically).  She's a BIG GIRL now.  And I am so proud of her.  I want to show her off to the world.  She is my sweet baby girl and I cannot imagine my life without her.  Just last night I was cleaning the kitchen and I looked outside to our backyard.  There are toys in the backyard.  There is a turtle sandbox.  I used to think things like this trashed up a place.  Now I see that they mean good things.  It makes me very happy to see her toys "junking" up our house.  These toys represent happiness.  Before I had Jane, I felt like something was missing.  I was desperate to get pregnant (and stay pregnant).  A lot of people didn't understand.  They said it would happen soon enough.  Stop freaking out.  Well, now I am standing by that desperation.  I was missing my Jane.  I think I had every right to feel so despondent.  My life without her was kind of empty.  No, I wasn't entirely unhappy.  But I know I was longing for something.  It's really cool being a parent.  It's still incredibly scary and a tad bit incredibly hard.  But it's rewarding and fills your life with so much good stuff.  It's more than you can explain, really.  (I refuse to say "it's the hardest job you will ever love."  So...I won't say that.)  I've often sat and thought, there is no way another baby on the planet has ever been loved as much as my Jane.  It can't be.  (No offense to those who love their babies as much as I love mine...obviously, YOU understand how I feel.)

I will say, I love Jane's name.  At first I kind of thought it didn't fit her.  I was wrong.  It suits her well and I love that her name is so classic and yet so unique for this day in age.  She will forever be my sweet baby Jane. 

I am also still shocked that this kid has red hair.  It's not just tinged with auburn.  It is a full-blown case of the Gingers.  At first I didn't really like it.  I didn't want a kid with red hair!  Now I wouldn't have her any other way.  She is unique.  And that is another reason why my "plain Jane" isn't plain at all.  She's full of character.  She's hilarious.  She is smart and beautiful and her mommy loves her more than life itself.