Wednesday 19 February 2014

Dealing with it

It's 6am, and I've been up all night.
Just when Amelie started getting the hang of the sleep thing (still waking but happy to take water), she got a viral chest infection and has been suffering with it for about a week. During the day, she's not bad, the odd cough here and there, but during the night, it's awful.
She coughs, chokes and wheezes all night long, and even in the short spells she manages to sleep, it's only because I'm sitting bolt upright holding her, too afraid to sleep anyway because I want to make sure she's okay.
It's exhausting. It's been half term this week, so I've had the kids on the go all day as well as being awake all night, and yesterday I was really hitting the sleep deprivation wall. I had moved from Confused Daze to Emotional Sponge, soaking up and magnifying everyone else's feelings. You know the type, one of those days where you can't bear to hear the kids saying they're upset about something, because it feels like a stab in your own heart, and even seeing a child crying in the supermarket makes you want to scoop them up and save them. Not a good day for watching charity adverts.
Anyway, I went to bed at 10pm, and Steve offered to take the night shift. I settled down, hoping for at least an hour of uninterrupted sleep, and immediately Daisy started coughing, spluttering and crying in the other room. By the time I'd given medicine, water and cuddles, Amelie started crying and wouldn't settle for anything other than The Boob.
Daddy's nightshift was over, and mine had begun. This is the only downside I can see to breastfeeding, it's not just about food, it's about comfort, and when she's ill, I won't deliberately withold the only thing she wants. Sadly, it makes Daddy feel pretty useless and me feel beyond exhausted, but hey ho.
I sat up with her for several hours. Sometimes she slept, and during that time, I tried to doze. We'd been speaking in the evening about possibly sacrificing a small portion of our savings for a much needed holiday, so I lay thinking about my ideal holiday destination.
Beach? Ahh, lying on the sand, listening to the waves, could anything be more relaxing? No. Too stressful, how do you keep an eye on three kids, all running toward the ocean at different speeds?
City break? Oooh, I've always fancied Italy. Are you kidding me? Dragging hot, tired kids around a city that charges the price of a small car for one scoop of fancy ice cream? Forget it.
 Maybe I'll start a holiday company for exhausted mothers, where you pay an extortionate fee to have someone watch your kids while you go into a darkened room, take a heavy sedative and sleep for a week. Sounds good to me!

I'd reached the pinnacle of Trying To Sleep. Amelie was wide awake, shouting and poking us both in the face, and I just felt utterly defeated. Not by Amelie, I don't think for one second that she's chosen to be ill and miserable, but just by the situation. By tiredness.
You see, you can tell yourself all you like to count your blessings. To remember those worse off than yourself - people who have lost children, people who are battling diseases, people who are in horrific, terrifying situations. But you know what? In that moment, I'm not trying to outdo anybody's pain, or make anyone feel sorry for me. I'm just experiencing my own exhaustion.
You can't make yourself feel better by making yourself feel worse. I know I'm lucky, and I know that in all honesty, I've never been in a happier, more settled or more contented place in my entire life, and I will miss these days when my kids are up and grown.
I KNOW THIS. But right now, I'm tired.
So, I do what I always do in these situations. I ask myself, how are you going to deal with this?
I'm sick of spending hours trying to sleep through the night, then spending all day stressing about what needs to be done, and how I can't sleep through the day because I have too much to do. There must be a solution.

I find it by looking at Amelie's smiling, wide awake face, as she waves and says "Hiya" to Steve and I. I look at the clock and realise that even if I could sleep now, I'd only get an hour, half of which would be spent trying to get my racing mind to shut down, and the second half of which would be spent falling into such a deep sleep, I'd feel horrendous when I had to drag myself out of it.
I go into the bathroom, and as quietly as possible, I have a big, snotty, ugly face cry. I let all the boo hoos out, put on my big girl pants and deal with it.
So, I'm awake! What am I going to do about it?
I take Amelie downstairs, put her in her jumperoo and do the things I'd be stressing about during the day. I catch up on ironing, clean the kitchen, have a cup of coffee and feel better.
And now, of course, at 6.30am, she is sound asleep in my lap while I write down my sleep deprived ramblings. The kids will be up soon, and I'll do the school run, although this time it will be a bit less stressful because I've had literally hours to get them ready and I'm already wide awake.

I know that my baby girl's chest infection will pass, we'll get back to helping her learn to sleep through the night, and one day soon I'll get some sleep.
In the mean time, I'm taking it hour by hour, keeping myself aware of my feelings and doing whatever it takes to get through. If I need to cry, I do it. If I need to clean, I do it, and if I need to remind myself that this WILL pass, I do it.
I'm dealing with it, and for one more day at least, I'm kicking sleep deprivation's arse.

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