Episode 3: In the Middle of the Night

Who is awake at 3am? Liz! And Mike is trying....

Transcript

MIKE
Week 3. Mmmm.

Good morning. I’ve missed you. Liz? Are you awake? Or could you be persuaded to be? (He opens his eyes and sees she’s not there.) Liz? Liz! Don’t tell me I slept through another wake up! Arrr! (He flops himself back on the bed.) Like I don’t feel worthless enough! How can I support you, if you don’t wake me up? I can’t be that hard to wake up. I’m tired, not dead. None of this, ‘I tried and you wouldn’t move’ business. ‘You even talked to me!’ She says. I don’t believe it for a minute. There is no way that the baby’s been crying for a half hour and I don’t even register. More like five minutes. Not that that’s any better... What time is it? It’s 3? Wait... let me get my glasses....

(Dozes off)

Woah... I had this dream where I woke up and I had slept through another feeding... Liz? Are you...? Wait a second. What’s reality? Right. Glasses. Three A.M. I slept through it. Again. I... Come on body! You can do this! Wake up! Maybe if I try sitting up, getting upright... But... the bed. It’s so... We got a new mattress. Before the baby. It was needed. We were sleeping on some old borrowed thing from her parents... It was part of our nesting. The best part of nesting. We thought it would be good, self-care you know? To have a good place to sleep. Get good rest when we can get it. But it’s become quicksand. Sucking me in again. Maybe I should sleep to store up energy for the severe reprimanding I’m going to get when she returns. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt...

No! Come on Mike, you have more power than this. I don’t need to give her more fuel to the fire. Is it possible that she likes chewing me out? Like ‘Ha! I’m a better parent than you?’ Yell, yell, yell. I just don’t care who the better parent is. It doesn’t matter. It won’t help the situation. She can bait me but... it’s a waste of time and energy. I can’t make myself care, and honestly? I don’t want to. I just want to be sleeping, I mean, a good parent. I just want to be a good parent. I don’t have to be the best. I just want to be good. I’m trying to be. I do want to help. I know it could help. It’s such a small sacrifice to pick up the kid and do the diaper change. But I don’t hear him.

Thus the she wakes me up solution. But she doesn’t.

And even if it were true, that she wakes me, or tries, and that I respond, I can’t even budge enough to sleepwalk my way through a diaper change? Really? What else can we do? What other solutions are there? Are there any? Okay, so I’m tired, no, not just tired, exhausted. Like wake up every half hour for the entire night, work all day, rinse and repeat exhausted, so when is the point when it’s no longer even in my control? Like when it becomes my default physical condition. I can’t get up. My body will not let me. Maybe I can...

ARG! I did it again. That’s it! No more even thinking about sleep! If she’s not going to let me help her, I can at least stay up out of solidarity. (Snores... Wakes himself with a loud one.) I’m up. I’m up! Okay. Let’s just admit that’s a dumb idea. Solidarity. Who needs two parents who are exhausted to zombie-like proportions? If one of us has to be, you might as well have a back up.  A pinch hitter if you will. She can be the zombie and I can rest now... (Yawn.) And pick up the slack later. If I can survive until then. If I’m not at work. I get all the sleep and then all the freedom. Yeah. I get it. I also never get to see her. Or we’re just in survival mode. ‘Hey pass the cereal.’ ‘Where are my keys?’ ‘See you at five.’ kind of stuff. Or ‘Why didn’t you get up Mike?’ ‘Why can’t you set yourself aside and help?’ ‘What is wrong with you?’ Like my whole being is flawed. Like it’s calculated or intentional or that my weakness is completely who I am. Like she’s forgotten the countless hours and attempts of our whole marriage and all that matters is my extreme difficulty to wake up. She doesn’t think about the effort exerted to get past my apathy to get up and be there. I don’t want a medal. I’m just saying, I MADE MYSELF CARE. I’m there. Not in bed. That’s a lot. I mean, I’m not there now... but I would be, if I could move. If my body... I’m not doing it to hurt her. I’m not that man. Can’t we operate from the belief that I’m trying? ‘Cuz I am. I’m awake, aren’t I? But not at the right time. It’s hard.

Maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe it shouldn’t feel like lifting a pallet of bricks every time I wake up. Eyelids like cement blinds.

I don’t know how to fix it. We tried pumping. Sorry. She tried pumping. I didn’t do anything. Right? You know, just woke up and fed the baby. We tried it for like three days. Maybe. She’s not getting as much. Pumping. The kid sucks down the bottle like it’s nothing. And then cries. He doesn’t understand. He wants Mom. The comfort of Mom. And she can’t stand it. It usually ends with her and the baby in a puddle of tears on the floor, helpless Dad standing with an empty bottle over them. Unable to do anything. Trying but not enough. The plan was to get her more sleep, that she would pump what was needed and go back to sleep. But she hears him. And she doesn’t trust me. I mean, if you heard how he cries... he’s loud... he’s hurting. It sounds like I’m failing because he’s screaming, but at the same time, she never gives me enough time to try and see if I can do it, if there is a wall we can power through to where the kid understands Mom isn’t coming and he’s just going to have to be ok with me. I get it. It’s life or death. It’s vital needs. Making sure he’s fed and cared for and she’s read all this stuff about how if we are doing it right babies don’t cry, but he’s going to cry. He’s a baby! He’s tired! We are all dead tired and all of this is just... exacerbated by sleep deprivation. I get it. It just hurts. To never be enough. For anyone.

How can I show I can help? She won’t try pumping consistently even though in three weeks... it’s imperative to pump. Has she decided not to go back to work? I mean we make all these plans and they just disappear, not really sure how... I should be taking some of the night because she has him the entire day, but it’s just this feeding thing... It’s a THING. We’ve got to practice, but it’s not my place to push. Her body. Her baby. I await my orders. She’s on the front lines, of course I’m only peripheral. Basically  changing the diaper and holding the baby are all that I can do, and I can’t even do that right. To her. For her. So I clumsily velcro the diaper and miss the important spots resulting in the baby soaking himself. So I forgot the cream or binky or leg in the sleeper. One time. Sometimes shuffling around in the dark with bleary eyes, steps are going to be forgotten, things get out of place, or people slip and heads get bonked. It happens. I just validate her mistrust when she should be letting me practice. Practice is how I, how anyone gets better. Why does she think she’s so much better than me? She’s had all the practice! Trust has to be earned, but she won’t give me the chance to earn it. She won’t back off long enough for me to figure out if I can do it. It’s not only hard to gain trust but I’m also actively losing it. So I sit on the sidelines and watch her do it right and... fall apart. Because she’s tired. Exhausted. So I’m the jerk watching from the sidelines. She’s the one who won’t call me in. It’s not the player’s fault if the coach won’t give him a chance. I’m her partner. I should be her partner. She should see me as one. I mean I’m THERE. I fought through the apathy, I’ve overcome incredible odds, I’m at her service. When I’m there, I’m THERE. I want to be there. I can’t help it if I don’t have supersonic mom hearing slash crushing guilt if I wait two seconds to get myself up and help with whatever needs helping. I can’t be her. My body won’t let me. Also I don’t want to be. I like me.

Okay, total honesty? I think I need more sleep than her. I know. Terrible. But...

And you try telling that to a woman sleeping three hours a night in half hour increments. I didn’t say I deserve it! I said I think I need more. Like to exist. Subsist. She’s... You’re... You’re so amazing honey. Beauti——

(Snore.)

LIZ
Week 3. Three a.m. Fourth time I’m up tonight. I think? Okay, okay, it’s okay I’m not taking it away... yet. But if you try and sleep on me...! Who am I kidding? You sleep on me constantly and just pretend to start eating again so I don’t leave you alone in your own crib. See. I’m onto you. It’s good thing I’m too tired to do anything about it. Besides I will only get five minutes before you decide you need me again, meanwhile daddy snores through it all... So I will continue to attempt to sleep in an upright position, not moving a muscle, as not to disturb you... 

Wasn’t this what I was practicing the entire third trimester for? I’m prepared to sleep upright, right? I thought I was going to get my body back. The plan was to be pumping. Ha! If only I could figure out how to put you in the crib, drowsy but awake... That’s how it’s supposed to work. To teach you to sleep. But whenever I try to set you down before you are out, your eyes pop open and that’s it. You have a hair trigger, dude. No matter how slowly I ease you down... (Wail after a failed attempt) Your sense of gravity amazes me. At least I’m getting a workout. Working my upper arms, my thighs, as I crouch tensely attempting to imitate the crib mattress and melt away when your head actually rests on it. Ninja mom! Got to work off that baby weight somehow.

This and baby yoga. Kiss crunches.

Something I can do while holding you. All. The. Time.

And she assumes the position. Core poised. She lunges. Shifting weight purposefully, almost imperceptibly. Next step. Slowly, slowly. Stay as steady as she can. Slower. Twist from the waist, like a crane, completely in control. Don’t shake now arms! Stay steady! And bend. And lower. And... melt...

(Wail)

Too smart. So we start all over. Here you go little boy. Back to me. And back we go to the rocking chair. Let’s see if Mama can sleep sitting up. There. That should be comfy enough. Now we’ve got to get some sleep. At least I do. 

I know I should keep trying... I’m not supposed to do this, sleep with him in my arms, but it’s this or no sleep. How can I care for him? Is this normal? Do all babies react like this? I’ve been reaching out to sleep consultants, just looking at websites, emailing, getting a free consultation and I keep getting the same answer: Wait until four months. Sleep isn’t organized until four months. We can’t know if it’s abnormal until then. So I have to last until then. To even know if it’s a problem. And really? His brain just hits a point where he magically develops the ability to sleep longer stretches? Really? There’s nothing I can do to encourage it? Drowsy but awake. Right. And here I am letting him sleep in my arms. But seriously! I try and not even my ninja moves can get him down! I’m getting pretty skilled! It’s just... him. He doesn’t seem... They say you’ll know, to trust my feelings and I feel... I’ve been reading about high need babies, some call it high intensity. They... need more. It’s a personality thing. I mean they eat more, gravitate more toward breastfeeding, rarely nap, can’t be put down, and are LOUD. It checks out. But he could be normal. It’s just been three weeks. And he’s my first, so maybe I’m being super sensitive? But I feel... It gives me hope. To see it’s not just me. Maybe. But there’s no help on how to solve it. Just... endurance. 

Okay. Once more. Into the crib. 
(Wail)

Come on... please? I’m so exhausted. Both Mom and Barbra were here today. I thought grandparents were supposed to make it easier but, somehow I’m more tired on their days. Mom... simultaneously wants to discount my high need theory, but also wants to solve it. She lectures, she demonstrates. I mean she stayed home with five kids. Her mothering skills are a point of pride. ‘Oh’ she says, ‘you just haven’t tried x, y, z!’ ‘You did what? No wonder he’s grumpy.’ ‘Here. Give him here.’ Like she can do better. He screams for hours with her too. I’m ashamed of how good that makes me feel. But then, he’s screaming... for hours. So I don’t feel that good. It can’t be right. You know, normal. ‘He just won’t be put down!’ Mom broke a little today. Then she said I was a hard baby. So, it’s my fault.

I wish I was a napper. I never was. So I guess it’s not surprising the ‘sleep while they are sleeping’ cliche offering has become more of an annoyance than anything. And when I come out yet again after an hour of trying to sleep and just hearing him wail, I am greeted by disappointment, my mom, or now severe annoyance from Barbara, Mike’s mom who has taken off work at the pharmacy to give me time to rest. It’s anxiety inducing. No one wishes they could get me to sleep more than I do. I promise. They offer suggestions— ear plugs, noise canceling headphones, music—— it’s just not in my rhythm. My body will only sleep at night. I’m sorry you inherited my bad napping gene little dude. I’m glad you have my eyes, but you should have looked to Daddy on this one. He can sleep through anything. Even fire alarms, but that’s another story.

If I had someone to relieve me at night, but—— Barbara has to sleep for work or I get ‘you’re the mom, not me. Why don’t you try formula? He will sleep longer.’ from my mom. We tried bottle feeding. Breastmilk. He just... it doesn’t soothe him as well. He goes through it so fast and... I give up. Mike was awesome. He kept him for almost an entire hour, while I tried to switch off my heart and brain to sleep while my three week old is screaming at the top of his lungs. I couldn’t do it. Sleep or hold him screaming for that long. I’m always the one who caves first. Mike would keep going. But he’s also understanding, when I... can’t do it. I don’t know how we are going to switch to bottles. Pumping still requires me to get up... and trying to get back to sleep is just SO much fun for me. Not a napper, and crazy ability to go from REM sleep to fully awake in five seconds! Not the super powers I currently desire... And then he’s screaming on top of it. For hours. If he’d just be okay with Mike, or Barbara, or Mom... Breastfeeding is one of, if not the only thing, working for him... How can I take that away? Will I give formula to him later? I don’t know. Probably. I wanted to pump. The plan was to pump. I had my heart set on... but who knows? And who knows how long I’ll be able to sustain Prisoner of War sleep deprivation torture strategies either. 

Babies from the beginning are real people. Yes maybe they seem more material-like at the start, like a doll that secretes different things and makes noises, but from the beginning they are people. Real people. They have a personality. This is a factor that cannot be completely molded or even understood. I considered this, thought I considered it, but I didn’t take it into consideration. I didn’t think breastfeeding would be the hill I’d die on, but right now it feels like it is and it’s not because I wanted it to be... it’s because the baby we have right now, this high needs kid who will only breastfeed, might make it THE issue. Okay. So no sleep tonight either. Only one thing to do. Facebook. 

Three articles on how phone light prevents going back to sleep. Excellent. Very confident in my choice. And... nothing new from my newsfeed two hours ago. Obviously not designed by breastfeeding mothers! (LIZ turns it off and tries to find a comfortable position for her head again. Attempt at sleep. A moment. She pops back up and turns the phone on. Sighs.) You win Zuckerberg. I will read the stale posts about all of my friends accomplishing things in the world while my life is sitting, scrolling, and sustaining life. Anything to feel like I’m still part of something, a community, people. We’ve had visitors. Glorious visitors. People come over, crow over the baby, drop something off, and then leave so they won’t disturb us. Wait! I was actually feeling like a person! Don’t leave me with the personality vacuum! I know we need to keep him healthy. I know that I need to be able to do this on my own. Find myself while I’m with him... But people... they are like air. They keep me alive, but they also disappear too quickly. Wow. I can’t believe Rachel graduated. She was... I guess just 2 years behind me. That makes sense. And heading to Lockheed Martin, wow. Good for her. Steven got promoted. Jared finished his Fulbright. Michelle’s getting married, she’s moving to New York City, and her graduation project is being adopted by Boeing. Ok. That’s enough.

I have a life, too. It just doesn’t look like it on social media. You have to actively post in order to appear like you exist and now it’s like, all pictures of a baby sleeping, when he sleeps, and... I’m not going to spend my free moments cultivating my own PR platform. 
It’s three more weeks and then I am back to being a part of living, of creating. 

This is living. I created a human. This is the realest life. Why does it feel... I’m pushed to my extremity. Of course it feels unfulfilling. At least sitting at a desk I have manageable projects to accomplish. Here the projects are... teach him to sleep. I need to break it down. Smaller chunks. Accomplishments. Can parenthood feel like accomplishments? Can I find purpose in it? I do find purpose in it. Clearly, I love him. I’m up feeding him life juices and draining all my time and energy. Everything is him. It just doesn’t come as easily as... I’ve always loved what I do. Or what I want to do. Am working toward doing. Building structures. Since I could grasp I was placing items on top of each other, seeing how high I could go without falling. It really clicked when our family toured the Golden Gate bridge in California. I had never seen something so big stand with so little help. I had a new challenge and a new need. To create something, self stabilizing. 

I’m not there yet. With this. Motherhood.

I used to watch my mom from the doorway when she put my youngest brother down for his nap. She... It was like the whole world stopped. The entire day she’d be cleaning, cooking, picking up clothes, or chasing after us, but in that room before naptime, it was peace. You could almost feel the love she had in that moment, just the two of them. I want to be her. I’m not. What kind of mother does that make me? (Long pause)
Me. It makes me, me. And that’s enough. It has to be. (Facebook Notification Noise) Who’s up at this hour? John has shared an article to your wall...‘London Woman uses Maternity Leave to Travel.’ Ha! This baby can’t even go to the supermarket! I am constantly praying we won’t get a red light so he won’t burst a blood vessel shrieking! Ah, she gets nine months of maternity leave. Well, that makes sense then. Who knows what I would do with nine months? Probably be fired. Nope. Definitely would be fired. ‘Hope you are enjoying your vacation while we are working our butts off. #stillhere’ You’re... He’s... still at work? How ineffective can you be, John? Seriously? Go home. No calculation is that difficult. Or important. And then we wear it like some sort of badge of honor? Post it for the world to see your destructive work/life balance. At least I’m having a life. Trying to. 
‘P.S. Check your email slacker.’ Oh great, what now? I saved the document in the shared folder! I saved it in the folder with everything else. If you didn’t stay up until 3 maybe you could see it! I don’t have time to fix this. When am I going to squeeze in time to handle this? Can I go in and——? I’ve never driven just myself and the baby and with Mike at work... Well I guess there has to be a first time for everything.

Shoot.