Today I hit a new low.
Will would not nap this morning. Even though he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes until they were pink, he would not, not, not go to sleep. I would rock and pat and sing until he drifted, then gently put him in the crib only to find him, five minutes later, grinning at me from between the slats. (Serves me right for trying to sleep in the same room.) We went through this THREE TIMES - rock, rock, sing, pat, snooze, smile. This is the part where a sane person would have gotten up, said Fuck it, We're Done and gone on with her day. An hour and a half later I was still sitting there in the g-d nursing chair, bawling into Will's hair. I literally wiped my nose on my kid's head. Nice.
Somehow I have lost all objectivity. When I was a nanny I was a realist. The boy wouldn't go down for his nap, oh well. As long as he was quiet and didn't bother me he was fine. As far as I was concerned if he wasn't sobbing, he was resting. Sleep would happen or it wouldn't, but it was out of my control. If he missed his nap, oh well. Guess he'd be tired.
Where the hell did that person go?
It sounds ridiculous to say that I feel psychologically damaged from the first few months of Will's life but between the colic (did you know that they play the sound of babies crying in prison camps to trigger anxiety?) and the miserable experience we had with Cry It Out, I've lost my marbles. All these newly babied celebrities keep gushing about how wonderful and fuzzy and great and sweet Life With Baby is, and it is, but I'm just dying to hear Julia Roberts announce that if her twins don't start sleeping through the night she's going to give them to the pool boy.