The Smoke Detector That Broke The Camel’s Back.

posted on 11/15/2009 by 9 Comments

There is only so much a person can take.

Human beings (yes, mommies too) are fragile, as much as we don’t like to admit it.  We disregard this fact. We push it deep down and pretend to be super heroes. We call it “necessity”, because after all, someone needs to take care of the house, feed the family, change the diapers, walk the dogs, keep the doctor appointments, buy the groceries, enforce nap times, wipe the noses, do the laundry, do the ironing, schedule the play dates, and generally keep the world spinning.

If you follow my blog, then you know that I have had ONE HECK OF A MONTH. With our new apartment falling apart around us, not having heat, Bam Bam getting sick, myself getting sick, and Hot Nerd struck down by  the h1n1 virus , my mettle has been tested.

A couple weeks ago, I shattered into a million pieces. My fortitude was reduced to the equivalent of a soft, albeit tasty, cinnamon crumb cake. One touch= an avalanche of crumbly crumbles scattered all over your plate.

What was the culprit you ask? What evil superpower led to my eventual undoing? Two words for you:

SMOKE DETECTOR

Please imagine, if you will:

Hot Nerd is out for the evening with a friend. They are spending a late night at the roller derby (No, you did not misread. I really did say ROLLER DERBY.) At a little after midnight, I am jarred awake by a very high pitched, disturbingly loud, BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I jump out of bed with my heart in my throat and blindly throw my pillow at the… I don’t know… whatever I thought was attacking us at the moment!

Silence.

I feel around in the dark, breathing very heavily, and switch on the light. I scan the room briefly, and then, three very loud BEEP BEEP BEEPS!

I realize that it is the smoke detector in our bedroom, and become very afraid that it will wake Bam Bam and scare the living crap out of him, like it did me. It is not making a constant string of beeps. Just three piercing beeps, followed by about 20 seconds of silence.  You know, just enough time to catch your breath, and remember what silence sounds like, before another round of earth shattering BEEP BEEP BEEPS.

This lack of a continuous string of beeps, leads me to believe that it has something to do with the battery. I thank the powers that be for putting a 9volt battery in our junk drawer, and quickly hop on top of our son’s step stool to change the battery.

I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO CHANGE THE BATTERY. I see no button, or hatch, or twisty- pully thing. I know there’s a battery in there somewhere because BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I begin simply swatting at the thing. As if to clear the imaginary smoke from around the device. I must point out, that the thirty days leading up to this point has already left me ill, sleep deprived, and the biggest walking ball of stress you’ve ever seen. So please forgive me when I tell you all that I begin to pry the thing off of the wall.  I gotta say, nowadays, they really stick those things to the walls. It would not budge- okay it budged a little. But being on top of my son’s tiny step stool, balancing on my tippy tippy toes just didn’t give me the leverage I needed. BEEP BEEP BEEP. So I start to beat it. First with my flat hand, then with my fist. Magic fist, apparently. Magic fist that makes the battery pop out of a weird, hidden, battery slot. YAY. I change the battery.

I praise the Gods that Bam Bam is still asleep in the next room and begin to climb down from my post.

BEEP. Silence.

Huh, that must be the beep that tells you you’ve successfully changed the battery.

BEEP. Silence.

Okay… that must be the beep that reminds you to perhaps check the batteries in the other smoke detectors...

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I scramble back up the step stool and start slapping the thing.  I’m also whispering vehemently, right up into what I imagine to be it’s face, “What do you want from me, you mother fucking piece of crap? I will kill you. Do you hear me? I … will…  KILL YOU.”

I can not fathom how any of this is possible. How does a nice, new shiny battery produce MORE beeping. It was teasing me. The fucking thing was teasing me.

While I’m up in it’s imaginary face, whisper/yelling at it, I notice a teeny button that says press to silence.

Oh my God, I press it.

I soooooo press it.

It is silent.

Then it is not.

BEEP.

It’s a softer beep. Not a silent beep. The button should say press to get a softer, only slightly less annoying beep.

I, at this point, am wondering what kind of futuristic, indestructible, alien smoke detector this is.

I have also worked up a sweat.

And I’m crying.

I can not think of anything else to do, but to stand there on my toes and keep my finger on the stupid button. I am amazed that my son has not woken up, and if the loud beeps start again, my brain will most definitely explode.

I stand there.

My arm goes a little numb.

I stand there.

On my toes.

On my son’s step stool.

In the corner of my bedroom.

Feeling completely trapped.

Then I jump off, run to the nightstand, grab my phone, run back, and press the button again.

I  decide there is nothing else left in me. I call my husband. I tell Hot Nerd that I need him to come home. It’s an emergency. I’m at my wit’s end. My fingers are numb. I’ve got a cramp in my calf. And I’m very, very, very tired.

I give him the low down on the phone. He’s at a bar, they just ordered food…blah blah blah. I don’t care. I tell him I’m about to go crazy and he needs to come home. His friend, jokingly suggests that maybe our place is haunted, and this all being done by a ghost.

I instantly believe that this is true.

There is no other explanation. It is an evil spirit trying to terrorize me.

I begin to sob, uncontrollably.

Hot Nerd says he will be home as soon as possible.

I must add, here, that this whole ordeal has completely fried my two little doggies. They are shaking, and skittering around, and this only confirms my belief that the evil spirits are out to get us.

Hot Nerd takes about twenty minutes to get home.

I spend that time sobbing, stuck in a corner, with my numb finger on that stupid button, tirelessly scanning the room for ghosts, and praying that I don’t become possessed by demons. Our closet doors begin to rattle. Our apartment is so shoddily made, that they rattle when anyone enters the building, but at that moment, I’m pretty sure they are rattling because of pure evil. I truly don’t remember the last time I was so terrified.

Hot Nerd, when he arrived, let me cry on his shoulder for a few seconds, then went through a series of similar tasks with the battery. Every time we thought he had fixed it, a random beep would occur.

Finally, we figured out it was the stand up AC unit that was in our room. We keep the fan on for noise, and the vent was pointed straight up at the smoke detector. At least we think that’s it. We moved it. It didn’t beep. Beep or no beep, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

The next morning, Hot Nerd suggested in a very gentle way that I might be a little over stressed. He suggested I schedule a massage for the following weekend to relax. This is why he is a genius. And also why he is hot.

I still glare at that smoke detector when I’m in bed.  That little, round thing was the last straw for me.

I broke.

I could take no more.

Sometimes the mountains we carry on our backs just keep piling higher and higher. We’re too busy pointing out how high the mountain is on our spouse’s back, or making sure a mountain never gets to start on our children’s backs.

So let this be a reminder to those reading:

Unless you wanna go bat shit crazy on a battery operated device, that is supposed to save lives, and swat at imaginary demons in your bedroom-  take some time every now and then to lighten your load.

It’s not hard. A warm bath. A massage. A yoga class. An exorcism.

Something.

Because you never know what the last straw will be.

last straw

last straw

posted in Life tagged with , , , , 9 Comments

The beauty of forgetting …

posted on 07/30/2009 by 9 Comments

hands The daughter of a friend of my mother in law called me today to ask a little advice about getting her baby boy to sleep better.  Now, I am not a doctor, but I had done copious amounts of research both before and during my own son’s sleep battles.  I have also been close witness  to several failed sleep strategies during my years as a nanny. On top of that, I am lucky enough to have a friend who is a therapist that specializes in infant/child sleep.

Even with all of this in my arsenal, I still could not be of much help because her son is only seven weeks old.  A newborn has very disorganized sleep and doesn’t start to distinguish between night and day sleep until about four or five months old. Until then, all you can do is tend to your babe at every cry, at all hours of the night.

This woman was deep in the throws of new mom exhaustion. Nursing almost constantly and not sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time is pretty standard for the mother of a newborn. I could tell she was hoping I had a magic wand to wave.  I did not.

We talked a little about how tired she was and how there were times when her baby would cry and she would cry too because she just felt so beaten. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I remember walking into the walls while holding my son because I was so exhausted I was almost in a trance. My son was colicky for the first three months. My husband and I spent hours on end pacing with him, rocking him, and bouncing him. We also did kangaroo care with him strapped to our chests for the first few months of his life.

She casually remarked, “I don’t know how people have more than one kid. God must find a way to erase the memories of the hard times.”

I thought to myself, she must be right.

Her phone call triggered a trip down memory lane for me.

I had a pretty traumatic birth and suffered from some PPD. I recall laying in the dark on the bed with my crying son in my arms just balling my eyes out because I wanted it all to stop. Anyone who has had a colicky baby knows how that baby’s cry hits a spot in your brain that no other sound in the world can trigger. And when your baby cries for hours on end, you truly do start to lose your sanity.

I remember thinking I would rather die than go through another day of exhaustion, and wailing, and feeling so helpless. I remember thinking that my husband and son would be much better off without me because I was obviously a terrible mother. I remember hitting my forehead on the wall over and over again on purpose because it kept me from squeezing my baby too tight.

As I think back on it now, it’s almost as if it all happened to a different person. I feel so removed from it. I wouldn’t even be thinking of it if I hadn’t received this particular phone call. Nowadays, when I remember my son’s infancy, I remember his little hand squeezing my finger. He used to do that alot. In the beginning he couldn’t do much of anything — couldn’t speak, hold his head up, couldn’t even focus his eyes. But he sure could squeeze my finger.  This memory does not feel like it happened to someone else. It still tugs at my heart.

I’m smiling right now.

Him squeezing my finger.

I haven’t forgotten the “tough times”, but I have forgotten the pain of it. It just isn’t there anymore.

My husband equates it to some sort of “pain envelope”.  That once you experience tremendous pain and actually get through it, it just isn’t painful anymore. You forget about it. That’s how boxers are able to keep getting back in the ring.

He must be right, because now we’re entertaining the idea of having another baby.

Ahhh, the beauty of  forgetting …

Or, maybe more importantly, the beauty of remembering.

Because God is pretty smart. He erases the pain of the bad times, but not the joy of the good times.

Cause it still gets me.

Him squeezing my finger.

posted in Life tagged with , , , 9 Comments

Sleep Training Smackdown!

posted on 06/19/2009 by 8 Comments

sleepingbabeSometimes mommy forums really tick me off.

First of all, most mommy forums exist as a source of support.  So, think twice before you post a judgemental, holier than thou, uneducated reply for all to see.

I was on Circle Of Moms today reading a thread started by a mother having a terrible time getting her 9 month old to sleep well. The thread was littered with helpful and not so helpful advice about reading this book or trying that method. For the most part, moms were saying “Here’s what helped me – hope it helps you”.

Except for one mom whom I will call Dumb Judgy Lady. I do not feel bad calling her this because -BE NOT ALL JUDGY LEST YE BE PREPARED TO BE JUDGED - or something.

Dumb Judgy Lady was very against any kind of “sleep training” and said she was appalled at the other mothers who had let their kids “cry it out” and had great success with it. She called it lazy parenting and went on to mention a study with baby monkeys.

I can only assume she was referring to some of the Harry Harlow experiments where baby monkeys form attachments to cloth, soft fake mommies with no food instead of wire mesh, fake mommies that have food.  Babies are tactile and need comfort, maybe even more than food. Another experiment ends in the death of a baby monkey that is left alone for weeks with no physical contact whatsoever.

Now, I find her reference to these experiments completely irrelevant. These experiments were done over extended periods of time and teaching your child to sleep in no way suggests that babies don’t need lots of affection. In fact, it promotes lots of tactile affection, hugs, kisses, and physical play during wakeful periods.  Leaving your child alone at sleep time helps them learn the difference.

Further more, sleep training is not suggested for newborns. Newborn babies need to be attended to promptly at any hour of the day or night. My son was colicky and we practiced Kangaroo Care for the first four months of his life.

Sleep training can be started at around five or six months of age. By the time my son reached that age, he was over his colic, but being held all the time gave him no self soothing skills. I am lucky enough to have a friend that is a child psychologist who specializes in infant/child sleep counseling.  Yes, we did controlled crying with him, yes it was hard, and yes it was completely worth it! At 6 months old my son was waking every two hours through the night to nurse and having erratic naps throughout the day. Now at one year he has two good naps a day and sleeps from 7 pm to 6:30 am straight through!

Not all babies need sleep training. Some develop good sleep habits early and end up sleeping through the night on their own.  Yes, babies cry when they need something. The thing is, they think they need you in order to fall asleep!

“Crying it out” or “controlled crying” is not lazy parenting. Lazy parenting would be letting a sleep problem persist because it’s just easier than solving the problem. Sleep is so incredibly crucial to the development of young brains and as parents we need to protect our  childs’ right to sleep.

Sleep training is not about letting your child cry all the time. It’s about establishing a routine, making the sleep environment dark, safe, and comfortable, and always tending to all of your childs’ needs. I repeat NEEDS.

The suggestion that eventually all babies will naturally learn to fall asleep and stay asleep by themselves is just not true. Some babies may (lucky to be you), and some may not. It takes a smart parent to recognize the problem and solve it. No one wants to end up with kids who throw tantrums before bed or refuse to sleep in their own beds like on those lovely nanny television shows.

Some babies may also naturally learn to brush their teeth. Some may naturally learn to wipe their asses. But if my son doesn’t magically know how to do these things … well, I’m his mother and I will step up to the plate and teach him how.

So, Dumb Judgy Lady, who is so appalled at other parents trying to teach their kids to fall asleep on their own: What are you gonna do when your toddler cries because she doesn’t want to brush her teeth? When she cries because she doesn’t want to take a bath? Or when she refuses to fall asleep without you at nine years old, because you were too lazy to teach her she could do it on her own?

I’ll tell you what you”re gonna do:

You’re gonna give me a call, and I’m gonna help you sleep train your girl so she can get the rest she needs and so can you.  And I will try to refrain from calling you lazy and I certainly will not tell you how appalled I am at your parenting style.

I will however, still call you Dumb Judgy Lady.

Thank you, and good night.

posted in Priceless Opinion tagged with , , 8 Comments