To Sleep, or not to Sleep

What is it about a child's crying, squealing and screaming that grates across my brain? I don't mean squeals of joy, I mean those pitiful moans and wails and cries with a pitch that is almost glass-breakingly unbearable. The cries don't cause the soft, motherly center of my being to melt and want to pick up my baby and cuddle him to soothe him. No, these cries are like a baseball bat to my brain, beating apart any gentleness that might be inside me, pounding it into teeny pieces that quiver like jelly on the floor.

That being said, let me explain the situation: I am not one of those people who claims to be able to survive on 6 hours of sleep. I am an ogre, a hideous, evil facade of a woman when I don't get enough sleep. By enough sleep, I mean 7.5 to 8 hours minimum. (I shudder at the fact that there's still the slightest bit of me that wants another newborn! What the hell am I thinking?) I go to bed at 11 PM. I would love to wake at 7. Usually what happens though is that I am jarred awake by Alex's wails at 11:30 - separation anxiety, the pediatrician says. Then, after he's back to sleep, I finally go to sleep for a few hours. Cut to 5:30 AM, when the moaning and wailing starts up again. So, the mamma beast is created.

Naptime used to be my favorite time of day. I could get work done, and even take a short snooze to recharge my batteries before round two of childrearing. Now, though, Alex goes to sleep at 1:30, and wakes at 2:30 (you guessed it, howling!) There's hardly enough time in there to lay my head down.

Why won't this child sleep? What have I done in a past life to deserve this - was I Stalin or perhaps a major proponent of the holocaust? Whatever it was I did, I am sure paying the price now. Once you've seen the dark underbelly of sleep deprivation, you can understand why it's been used as a form of torture for eons.

During the day, Alex is a doll. He's normally cheerful, quick to smile, and easy to console. He loves to watch his big brother run around, and joins in as often as he can. Together, the boys build with Legos (ok, Logan builds and Alex tears down), chase each other in circles, draw with crayons and stickers. Essentially, the definition of happy kids. But as soon as that baby is in his bed, he howls. He falls asleep when he feels like it, and once awoken, feels the need to howl and cry and scream until you come get him. Whereby he turns into an angel child again.

But, I try to lie down and regain a few minutes of much needed sleep, and the wails pierce my brain like daggers. Earplugs, pillows over my head, his door shut, nothing works to quiet the racket. I must not beat my child senseless, he deserves better, and so do I. Despite the fact that he is screaming, I must stand my ground and keep him in his bed the length of naptime (two hours), otherwise I will lose my sanity. There appears that nothing but time (and lots of it) will quell my child's cries.

Sleep is a beautiful thing. My child is a beautiful thing. But Sleep does not equal my Child. Sigh.