Friday, October 3, 2014

My Ugly Side

Lest people start thinking I’m some kind of wonder mom, let me tell you about last night.

Wait, last night was just the end of a string of nights just like it. This week has been miserable.

I brought a cold back with me from Phoenix. It was just a head cold that stuck with me for all of four, maybe five days and that was it. I sniffled, I sneezed, I coughed and fought a little congestion but it was never even anything bad enough to call in sick.

Last Sunday evening, Olivia started sniffling. Uh oh. Colds for her tend to last longer, go deeper and cause way more trouble than colds for the rest of us.

Colds make her miserable and she likes to share the misery, especially between the house of 11:30pm and 3:00am.

So last night I went to bed at 9:00, thinking I could get a good two hours of sleep before things got shifty. As in, before Olivia woke up and came to me, asking to use the bathroom.

She’s done this every night this week, starting at around 11:30pm. She’ll wake up, come to my bed (no longer the twin bed, thank you very much!) and tell me she needs to potty.

I’ll drag myself out of bed, take two steps to the bedroom door, open it, take two more steps to the bathroom where there is a lovely flower nightlight glowing. Olivia will be right behind me. She’ll use the toilet, I’ll help her out of her pajamas, because what is a middle of the night wakeup call if it doesn’t include discarding all articles of clothing that protect the sheets from your naked butt?

Then we’ll go back to bed, both of us to my bed, of course.

Then she’ll toss and turn for a bit, dig her toes into my calf or thigh for good measure and finally settle down. I’ll have about twenty minutes to fall into a decent sleep before she rolls toward me and whispers, “I need to potty again.”

And we do this about four times in the next two or so hours before I’ve had it. Each time I get a little more surly as we make our way to the bathroom where she deposits all of three drops of urine into the toilet.

By the fifth wake up, I’m done. I heave a huge sigh, I stomp to the door, throw it open in exasperation and say through gritted teeth, “Last time, Liv! Go pee and then GO. TO. SLEEP.”

She’ll do her business as she whispers, “Okay.”

I’m not proud of this behavior on my part. I’m not happy that I get so grouchy but I’m so, so tired.

Once we’re back in bed AGAIN and she tosses and turns a bit more, I’ll grumble, “Stop screwing around, go to sleep.”

I want my child to get better sleep. I want myself to get better sleep.

Of course she’s not going to kick her cold if she’s not resting. And this getting up five or six times in between 11:30pm and 3:00am does not qualify as rest.

I wish there were some way I could kindly get my point across. But the kinder I am, the more she wants to get up and pee. Honestly, she doesn’t need to use the bathroom. She’s just awake and bored and wants company and she knows the surest way to get me out of bed is for her to say she has to pee.

My inner monster comes out at 3am after four hours of broken sleep.

I’m not proud of this. I’m very much ashamed, in fact. I want to be better. I want her to sleep better. I just don’t know how to break this cycle.

And there you have it. My ugly side of mothering.

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