In Which I Provide Effective Birth Control

Dig me, posting before dark for a change. Tonight I am going off to a friend's bridal shower, so MOTH graciously took the boy to the library and farmer's market so I could come here for a bit. Why not write during Tank's nap, you might ask?

Oh, ho, ho. That's a good one.

Mama's going to nap with Tankbaby today. Or possibly instead of. I don't really care which, but the point is, I'm going to need a nap at some point, or else it's entirely likely that I'll be driving home from the shower tonight and veer off the road, a fiery crash of naplessness and ire. I guess it will bring new meaning to the phrase, "You can sleep when you're dead."

I believe I've mentioned once, twice, or thirty times that Tankbaby isn't, and has never been, a good sleeper. We've really come so far from where we were a year ago, or even six months ago, and the nightweaning has been pretty successful.

Except for lately, when 4:30-5 AM rolls around and Tank decides that his tank (so to speak) is empty. There are three ways this can go:

Scenario A: Tank whimpers and signs "milk" while saying "Mama?" I roll over, cuddle him, whisper, "Milk in the morning." He whimpers again to make sure his objection is noted, and then crawls up onto my pillow, flings a chubby arm across my neck, and goes back to sleep, his sweet baby breath on my face (when do kids start getting morning breath? I thought it might be by now, when he's got most of his teeth and is eating adult food--he had hoisin salmon last night, which you'd think would emit some sort of odor when incubated in a moist little cave--but so far, I'm OK with my nose being an inch from his open mouth). We all go back to sleep for another hour or so, at which point he gets to nurse and we hang out in dozy cuddliness until I have to get up for work.

We get this for a few nights in a row, long enough to lull us into a false sense of security, and then...

Scenario B: Tank whimpers and signs "milk" while saying "Mama?" I roll over, cuddle him, whisper, "Milk in the morning." He whimpers again to make sure his objection is noted, and then crawls up onto my pillow, flings a chubby arm across my neck, and...grabs it, pulling me closer, trying to get access to my tank top. He asks more urgently, "Mama?" and signs "milk" with whatever hand is not involved in snaking its way under shoulder straps or down through the neckhole. I reassure him that milk will be forthcoming sometime after FREAKING DAWN, for crying out loud, but that it's time to go back to sleep. I gently guide his hands back away from all my vital organs. Repeat once or twice more, then we all go back to sleep. Cuddly dozing, get up for work.

This is, obviously, less desirable than Scenario A, but still doable, especially if I manage to get to bed early enough that I've had a nice chunk of sleep before he wakes. (Did you catch that part? Because it becomes important later.) It only lasts about 10 minutes, it's generally still done quietly and I can literally do it with my eyes closed.

But last night? Last night was the dreaded

Scenario C: Tankbaby wakes with a cry, I pat him on the back or cuddle him. He asks for milk. I explain the (at this point, extremely well-established, consistent) no-milk-between-10-and-6 policy. He crumples as if I have told him that Santa Claus is a lie (and, I guess, that Santa Claus existed in the first place...a poor simile, but I'm running against the clock, here). He cries piteously, saying and signing "milk?" with his best Charles Dickens orphan face. I remain sympathetic but unmoved, disentangling his hot little hands from wherever they've managed to lodge themselves (dude, WHY are your hands down my pants?). He gets more agitated, arching his back, crying more loudly, flinging himself around the crib, into our bed, trying to climb over me to lie between me and MOTH. I continue to pull him back down, offering cuddles, kisses, and sometimes cash if he'll just lie down and go back to sleep. He refuses all such reasonable offers, crying "Nah! NAH!" (his version of "no") repeatedly, long after I've stopped offering the pony rides and free magazine subscriptions. He continues to flail, I continue to try to be calm and soothing and sleepy-looking while simultaneously catching all those little limbs of his (dude, WHY are your hands down your pants?) and trying to mentally calculate, "If he falls asleep right now, I can still get another 47 minutes of sleep." He finally buries his head against a pillow or my chest or my armpit and quiets, breathing more deeply, juuuust long enough for my heartrate to slow and then the slowly erupting cry, "I thought I was feeling better but I just remembered THE MILK THING and now I AM VERY UPSET ALL OVER AGAIN WAAAAAHHHH!"

Repeat. And repeat. Eventually, he gets so worked up that he is just sobbing inconsolably, those jagged, hiccupy sobs that you cry if you're foolish enough to go see the new romantic comedy too soon post-breakup. And I rock him and hold him and MOTH hugs him and he finally, finally lies down and sighs, those long, staggering sighs that follow sobs. His eyes, screwed shut from crying, finally relax a bit, although the lashes are still wet on his cheeks.

It is simultaneously the most infuriating and most pathetic thing I've ever seen.

To be fair, last night was only the second night of this we've had since the nightweaning process back in June, and the other was the night we moved the clocks back for Daylight Savings Time. But still. You can see where it would grow tedious rather quickly.

Part of it is my fault: when putting Tankbaby down for the night, I accidentally fell asleep with him, until MOTH woke me at 10. (In case I haven't described our co-sleeping situation before, we have Tank's crib up against our bed with the side rail out, so we can lie with him to snuggle, but he also has his own space. So I was sleeping in my bed, not crammed into the crib with him, in case you were wondering why MOTH left me in there so long.) I came out into the living room to blog, while MOTH went to bed, but was in that logy place where I was too groggy to write much (or well), but couldn't actually sleep, either. I watched Glee on Hulu (which will explain why, at 5:37 AM, I was shushing with Tankbaby while singing Cee Lo in my head, and also illustrate how unhip I am, that I learned about Cee Lo from a FOX sitcom) and finally went to bed after midnight, but I tossed and turned for another hour (still singing Cee Lo, "I pity the fooo-hool who falls in love witchoo...").

Anyway, the point is, I'm gonna need to take a nap later.