I don’t know about you, but for me, the first year of parenthood can be encapsulated by one word: hell. Okay, maybe I am being a bit dramatic. There were good times, joyous ones even. But for the most part, I was a sleep-deprived mess who was constantly battling nap times, bedtimes and mealtimes and looking forward to the day that my child was 18 so I could have my life back again.
Fast forward a couple of years, however, and I’ve changed my tune. My son is now almost two-and-a-half and can carry on conversations, make me laugh, and even make me cry happy tears with the sweet things he says. Parenting is actually fun and so I recently decided I was ready, excited even, to have another child. I’m currently five months pregnant and looking forward to welcoming a new addition into our family. There’s just one thing I’m nervous about: the sleep part.
I love that my son now goes to bed at 7pm and doesn’t wake up again until 6am and that, unless he’s sick or having an off night, I don’t have to go into his room at all unless I want to see his sweet little self sleeping. It took a lot of hard work, sleepless nights and emotional breakdowns to get to this place.
It’s not that I wasn’t prepared for parenthood. I knew it wouldn’t be easy: I was accepting of the fact that my social life would pretty much end, that my relationship with my husband would change, that I would be a hormonal wreck a lot of the time and that raising a baby would be hard work. I just didn’t anticipate doing it all in a zombie-like state.
My son was an awful sleeper. He never seemed to nap for more than 45 minutes and would wake up at least five times a night until we finally sleep trained him–and even then, it wasn’t until he was nine months old that he slept through the night. Oh, and he liked to wake up for the day as early as 445am.
I remember crying every night for what felt like months when my son wouldn’t go back to sleep after nursing. I remember throwing stuffed animals at my husband’s head during middle-of-the-night arguments over whether or not to give my son a pacifier (I thought no, he thought yes). I remember wishing I could go away on vacation and not come back…for a while.
Fortunately, I think I’ll have more perspective this time around. The fact that my baby won’t go down for a nap won’t bother me as much because I’ll know it’s just a phase (and I probably won’t have the time or energy to do much about it anyway). And frankly my body is used to not getting much sleep now.
But even though I have some experience under my belt and the wherewithal to realize that this too shall pass, I’m still nervous for what it will be like to wake up X amount of times a night again –and this time knowing I’ll also have a toddler to care for the next day. I don’t think it will be easy. But I also don’t think it will be as hard. I know how quickly it all goes by now. I’m no longer wishing for the day when my son will turn 18 and am instead savoring the sweet days before he does. I can only hope what this all means is that with baby number two, being sleep-deprived won’t make me crazy as it did the first time around. I guess I’ll soon find out!
