Now of sleeping.

Me: Gah! You  left the pizza box out.


Huband: And....


Me: And?? I asked you last night to throw in the recycling and now it smells like stale pizza in the kitchen!


Husband: And...


Me: Don't patrionize me. I do a lot around here, y'know and you totally don't respect that 'cuz if you did, you would do what I ask you to do instead of looking at me like I have three heads! God! What am I? Some fifties housewife??!


Husband: Christ, I'll put the damn pizza box away. Listen, is it, you know, that time...??


Me: Ah!!! Move or I'll show you where you can put that damn pizza box!

What was with me and the hubs constantly bickering? I was annoyed; he was annoying. And honestly, who cares about a pizza box, really? Well, apparantly, this is what our arguing had been reduced to-he didn't want to be bossed around, and I didn't want to feel like a hired housekeeper. We had been down this path constantly over the past year; sqaubbling back and forth over the most trivial things. It had never been like this for us before, and believe me, we did not enter parenthood lightly. We knew it would be difficult at first. What was up with us?
My husband and I met way back in university and bonded almost immediately. He studied hard. I, well... I studied English, so after graduation when he was prepared for home ownership and was settling in a great job, I wondered what the hell I was going to do with my Liberal Arts degree (the sleepless wonder is soooo not studying American Poetry of the 1780s when he goes to Uni!). I decided to teach overseas and explore the world. It didn't take long for my (then) boyfriend to quit his job, sell the car and join me. We've been inseperable ever since. So how was it that my partner, my travel mate, my rational thinker, and my alway reliable guy and I were fighting over the most asinane things? Sure, I guess I could blame sleep deprivation, but there was something more at play that was happening.
I remember watching an episode of Dr.Phil where he said that everytime you argue in front of your kids, you damage them. That, and something about looking at a rooster while the fox waits in the den. The point was, arguing is never good for the kids and here we were, arguing like a couple of emo sixteen year olds with damaged egos. In some ways, the tension was simply just the change of having this super huge responsibilty in the house. The adjustment to having to care of the little one was big for us. For 10 years, it had been just the two of us, with the exception of Charlie for the last 3 (and really, Charlie may have prepared us for the kind of bickering that led to statements like: "I changed him last time," but in no way did she compare to baby). Suddenly, (ok, not so sudden; we did have 9 months to prepare for this) we were thrusted into parenthood and I think neither of us expected it to be such hard work( I know, I know, insert eye-roll here). It is a 24 hour, 7 day a week job. Sure, it is absolutely the best thing we have ever done, but it can be a tireless, thankless job and things, like the occasional pizza box being left out overnight, can really get the blood boiling.
I suppose when it really comes down to it, both of us are looking for some form of validation. My husband wants me to recognize (and acknowledge) that he works his butt off daily, with a crappy commute, on little sleep, and a brown-bag lunch of leftovers (hello, E.I people!) And I want him to recognize that I don't punch out for lunch or a coffee break, that I seem to straighten up the house a little bit all day only for it to look just as disasterous as the hour before, and that sometimes I miss that crappy commute.
At the end of the day, the bickering isn't what we focus on; usually my husband is the first to apologize and I am grateful for that. We can't be perfect, but we try. I just say to my husband: Always listen to me, and we'll be just fine. There, that wasn't so hard, was it? 

Sleep, sleep all, the sleepy town.

Me: So I have reorganized the kitchen cupboard on the left, did 3 loads of laundry, and finally threw out all my socks and undies that are either too old or have too many holes in them. Whew. I am the ultimate woman. What's up with me lately? I feel like I'm nesting.


I look at husband questioningly until a sense of dread overcomes me.


Me: Wait. You don't think? Good god, I'm not pregnant, am I??


Husband: No, silly. You've been sleeping. You actually have energy to do these things now....


Oh......duh.


Me: Right. Well, I've done enough for a week. You'll find me on Facebook.

It was amazing what a couple of night's rest could do for the soul. And the bags under my eyes. I felt (and sort of) looked like a new woman. My eyes didn't sting at 2pm. I didn't feel like calling it a night just as we finished eating dinner. I felt recharged and quite frankly, it was the best I had felt since giving birth. During baby's sleep strike, I always felt on the cusp of either tears or that I wanted to claw someone's eyes out. In other words, it was like a wicked case of PMS. Combine that with the ever changing hormones and wham bam, you got one sassy mama, and not in the good way. It's not that I was a basketcase all the time. In fact, I had become sort of numb to my own sleep deprevation that when I finally slept a full two nights in a row, I didn't recognize myself.

And so our sleepless wonder slept. And each night I would anticipate a wake up call that didn't come. We would put him down at 7:00pm and he would just sleep. A few nights we had to let him whimper and re-enter his room once or twice, but ultimaltely, sleep overcame him quite quickly and he would stay dreaming until 6am. Every so often we would hear a loud wail, and I would jump out of bed and head to his door only to hear silence before I could even turn the handle. He had actually put himself back to sleep and I would close my eyes and breathe a quiet "thank-you" to the sleep gods that had helped my little one get back to dreamland.

Naps were still a struggle, and as much as I used the technique we had mastered at night, the little one just didn't want to go down during the day. After three days of struggling, (and three days of a very fussy boy around the 5pm mark) baby finally got the whole "nap" concept. Although he never seems to nap for more than hour, putting him down is actually a piece of cake most days (*as I furiuosly knock on wood).

So is this it? Is my blog finished? Is there nothing more I can say about the trials of parenthood? Hell no! Everyday brings something new to discuss, so let me hear it, people! Please comment on your own parenting stories, or share some of your own tribulations with kids (that may or may not even be yours! Hey, props to all the fam members out there. You know who you are!) I will contine writing and as the weekend of the (ex) sleepless wonder's first birthday ends, I can't help but think of what the next year will bring. Stay tuned to find out......