I don’t understand how I can love him so incredibly much during the day…

… and hate him so much at night.

It’s 10:23 pm, and my child is awake.  His bedtime is 7:00 pm.  Strange how that works, isn’t it? 

I’m tired of bitching and complaining about my sons sleep habits, or lack thereof.  Every time I think to myself that at least it can’t get worse than this, it does.  I never, in my entire life, imagined that I would STILL not be getting any sleep when my child was seven months old. 

That’s sort of hard to comprehend.  I haven’t gotten a full nights sleep in seven whole months.  I’m not even getting night-time naps lately, less than two hours at a time isn’t really a nap.  It’s no wonder I hardly function, fly off at the handle, and want to cry all the time.  It’s no wonder I DO cry all the time.  I get so mad, I forget what it feels like to love him.  I don’t want to look at him, I don’t want to hold him, I just want to put him down and walk away.  Sometimes I do.  What do you do when there’s nothing else you can try?

It seriously makes me wonder.  Whatever you believe – God, Evolution, whatever – how can this possibly be the way things are supposed to work?  Is this the grand plan?  Does God make it so that we don’t get any sleep as a test to see if we’re strong enough (or desperate enough) to let our babies cry it out?  Or is the real test to see if we can overcome the exhaustion and keep with it, regardless of how long it takes?  Where is the virtue in making a mother want to die of sleep exhaustion?  From an evolutionary point of view – how could this possibly be the way things are supposed to be?  Wouldn’t a mother that isn’t getting ANY sleep at all be unable to provide for her children/family during the day?  Wouldn’t forcing that mother to allow her baby to cry it out put her in danger at night when predators are lurking? 

I feel like I’m missing some magic trick; that one little thing that, once I’ve figured it out, he’ll sleep better and we’ll all be happier.  Like there’s this special button right near his navel, only two inches to the left and a fingers breadth down, and when I push it – BAM – he becomes a wonderful sleeper.  Or maybe it’s somewhere on his right foot.  Maybe Ronan’s Magic Sleep Button(tm) is broken.  That’s got to be what it is.  There is NOTHING that we haven’t tried.  No matter what it is, what trick, suggestion, idea or method put forth in the multitudes of baby books I’ve read, they each work for a night or two tops, and then we’re back to square one. 

It’s now 11:33 pm.  Ronan has been sleeping for about 20 minutes.  This post was frequently interrupted by I child that I had previously thought was sleeping, only to sit down, settle in, and have to run to his rescue again.  It’s time for me to go to bed.  Part of me prays that I will get a good night’s sleep.   Part of me wonders what my cave-woman ancestor would do.  And part of me just doesn’t give a shit anymore.  I’m too tired to care.