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Cruz |
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and the Art of Sleeping |
 Michael Sebastian Cruz expresses his opinion of his first bath |
Alone with my baby--
at about a million decibels
|
Our columnist Raphaella Cruz rejoins the ranks of TheColumnists.com after the birth of her first child. We welcome her back with open arms, knowing full well it won't be us burping babies at 2 a.m. For those of you who suspect this website is put together by denizens of a retirement home, this column should disabuse you of that notion. |
By RAPAHELLA CRUZ
of TheColumnists.com
Sleep deprivation is a form of torture, but it's amazing
how one adjusts when there is no alternative. For example, when
there is a new infant in the house.
Since my son Michael Sebastian was born six weeks ago, my record for continuous sleep is five hours, and that has happened only once. He was born alert and serious, wanting to see and know everything there is, not missing a beat, and not very sleepy.
After a difficult birth that ended in an emergency c-section, I was afforded the luxury of a five-day hospital stay. I was constantly tended to by doctors, pediatricians, labor nurses, lactation consultants, and of course, my husband. I thought this was going to be a great life.
But on the second night and after several hours of baby-howling, I suddenly found myself alone with him. What a way to clear the room!
Even my husband had vacated the premises, high-stepping it to his new SUV to get the heck out of Dodge, at least for a few hours. But when everyone was gone and baby and I were left to gaze into each other's eyes, we both fell asleep for a few hours. Of course I also had a morphine drip.
Been-there-done-that mothers advise you that you should sleep as much as possible during pregnancy because that is the last time you will sleep for the next 20 years, at least. They describe unbelievable exhaustion, days of not showering or brushing their teeth, only remembering the first few weeks of their children's lives as a semi-conscious blur. I couldn't believe such gloomy talk but now I can now attest to the reality of this ordeal--it is the toughest part of mothering.
After arriving home from the hospital, well-wishers come bearing gifts and casseroles, wondering what they can do for you, asking what they can get you. But the one thing you NEVER get from anyone is a lousy half hour nap!
Getting baby to dreamland is an art, and just when you think you've mastered it after two hours of trying, you finally put him down. You tiptoe away from the crib. You turn down the light. You climb into bed and close your burning eyes. And then you hear, very softly, very quietly, "peep," which quickly turns into "WAAAH!!!" and then you have to start all over again.
I have had more than my share of wakeful nights and hazy days, and they are miserable, yet am surprised how little sleep we really need to function. The piercing scream from a crib is a big motivator to get up and restart the routine.
I have had many nights where Michael Sebastian was sobbing for no apparent reason and I broke down and sobbed, too, both of us looking tearily at each other, wondering why the other one was crying.
I have woken up with patches of milky spit-up on my shoulder or in my hair, or wearing the same clothes as the previous day, never having had time to change into a nightgown. We've spent many nights on the couch, baby and me, for when he falls asleep it is too risky to move him to his crib. I learned that lesson the hard way. I have been known to concentrate on humming the famous Brahms Lullaby while the 'orchestra' screamed in the background.
My husband and I are no strangers to desperate measures. We take them every day in hopes that Michael Sebastian will nod off for just 20 minutes and we'll settle for 10 or 15.
We even attached a hook
to the ceiling and hung the infant car seat from a two-foot bungie
cord over our bed in order to produce the bouncing motion that
lulls so many little ones to sleep. It worked! But only once.
When he was on to us, the game was over.
"Wait a minute! You're trying to get me to go to sleep!"
he accused us with his suspicious baby blues. The next day we
tried it with the Snugli, and that worked, too--once.
Little by little we dare to take him out for walks, usually with him strapped snugly to my front. He seems to like the variety, and cranes his neck to see the world out there. Recently we packed him up and started down the steps. I was functioning at about 50 percent, having stayed up with him the night before. I tripped on the steps and went flying toward the bottom where I landed on my hands and knees, bloodied and frightened. I glanced at Michael Sebastian, expecting the usual response from him. But he was actually grinning. He seemed to be saying "Do it again!"
It is true what the new-mom
books tell you--that crying can sometimes sound beautiful when
it's your own baby. Especially after a night of crying when the
morning brings the first smile, full of joy and amazement and
love.
Or when you leave him in another room for a minute and can hear
his cooing through the monitor as he gazes out the window at
the birds outside. Or when you hold him over your shoulder and
rub his back, only to feel him rubbing your back, too.
These moments can be wonderfully rejuvenating and suddenly the lack of sleep is forgotten...and only baby matters.
And then comes another
"WAAAAH!"
©2003 by Raphaëlla Cruz. The photo is the property
of Michael Sebastian Cruz and his parents.
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