Slaying the Sleepless Monster

That was nice of you all who knew better not to tell me so that the whole "she's teething" theory is pretty much bunk. No no, really, I can appreciate a learning curve when it rises before me, with my ignorance looming almost as tall.

To no surprise to you of course, the teething tablets did nothing for Quinn's restlessness. Before packing up my various baby books I flipped through to see what they said about the joys of teething. All four said it was blamed for more than is reasonable. In fact, early in the 20th Century, a new tooth used to be charged as the villain for a child's (otherwise unexplained) death. Instead, all that can be attributed to a baby's pearly whites is some minor pain lasting only a few days.

This revelation made me wonder if I had unwittingly been roped into the soothe-the-bebe game this whole time. So I tried not responding immediately when Quinn started to cry in the middle of the night. If it continued for more than ten minutes, I resolved to only give her the nukie (pacifier) back, instead of a fresh bottle of milk.

Just as the teething tablets had failed, this too bombed. The decibel of her cry negated the need for a monitor in my room, and the nukie didn't last more than a second after I plugged it in her mouth. Dazed, I concluded she really was hungry so I resumed the pattern of giving her a bottle, until she fell asleep and I could wander back to my slumber.

As of last night, my latest theory was that Quinn wasn't eating enough during the day, so if I worked harder at stuffing her gut she wouldn't wake up hungry. So, I made sure she ate and drank plenty. All went well... until she went to bed. Figuring I was being played by her inherent baby games, I resisted coddling her after I put her to bed; only returning to give her the nukie and to keep her from scratching off her ears and pulling out her hair (this has become another nightly ritual).

Over an hour, Quinn's cries seemed only to escalate. When I finally picked her up she stopped crying only long enough spew her dinner of avacado, rice cereal, and breastmilk all over herself, the floor, her bed, and me. Copious amounts of puke... Yum. (And thank you Dad for being the clean-up crew!)

Of course, at the sight of this I was pretty sure I won the "Crappiest Mother" award for a failed attempt to steal some sleep by engorging the little girl. Quinn got over it as soon as I plopped her in the tub, refilled her belly, and deposited her back into a clean bed. That was until she woke up multiple times throughout the night, again.

Today a stroke of sanity came my way.

One of the NICU nurses, Angelia, had talked Tiffany and me into getting a book on getting a baby to sleep. I hadn't read much of it since Quinn was a few months old, at which time the ongoing mantra is "You can never spoil a baby." So, I thought I was safe until she was a bit heftier and clearly getting spoiled.

Fat sleeves and all, it didn't seem like Quinn was bulky enough to ignore her cries for food in the middle of the night. And, considering she'd polish off a couple of bottles between 10pm and 5am, I thought it was safe to conclude she really needed those calories.

Apparently, I'd been had.

All I've been doing is perpetuating her and my on-going lack of sleep. By going into her room, giving her a nukie, or uttering utter nonsense to her is enough positive feedback to get her hooked.

Try it yourself sometime. It's hard not to want to soothe a baby and stop the madness of her cries. Evolution-wise, a baby's cries are supposed to remind us not to leave the helpless being outside the cave, at to feel like the sound alone could burst apart every fiber of our body.

Maybe the most evolved of all of us, my Dad has been the biggest pushover when it comes to any baby crying. Apparently, I was notorious for doing the same thing well into my toddler years (and all this time they have been blaming ME when it was really their reinforcement that kept it going so long!).

The few times I'd tried to let Quinn "cry it out," I'd click on the monitor's video only to see she had stopped crying because my Dad had scooped her up and was cooing her to more subtle sounds. Out of her bedroom she would come with a victorious smile, and I'd wonder if she started to prefer him over old-slow-to-respond Mom.

Not to mention -- back in the hospital, it was thrilling to imagine the normalcy of being sleep-deprived and having to feed and comfort her at home. Although I've complained now and then, it really hasn't been a big deal -- except I'm slightly less sane as the sleepless nights pile up.

As of today, no more soothing. Not by me, grandpa, or even the animals who after enough crying will flock to see what is amiss.

My parents read the parts of the book that seem to speak right to us and little Miss Quinn. Considering it is Thanksgiving week, it seems appropriate we go cold-turkey.

So Quinn's sticky fist doesn't rule all hours of the day any more. Her hours of operation have been cutback to the day-shift only, excluding naps.

From now on, she will be sleeping through the night, and so will I. I can hardly wait!

Goodnight to all,
The Hoodwinked Mommy & Bamboozling Baby