No One Sleeps When I’m Awake*
No Weed Days 3 and 4 went pretty well, until last night. Last night was rough.
Daycare Lady let me know Theo had been fussy yesterday and ended up napping later than usual. Her exact words were “his schedule will be off today.” Okay.
I put him to bed at the usual time. If I haven’t already mentioned it, bedtime is one area of Toddler Land that is not a nightmare. This is because I was obsessed with sleep training and got him on a good schedule pretty early on. About half the time he’s even willing to help pick up his toys before bed.
An hour after I put him down I heard him talking to himself. He wasn’t screaming, or crying, he was just clearly wide awake. Normally, I have a do-not-go-in-there-unless-he-is-on-fire-I’m-talking-big-orange-flames rule when it comes to putting the kid down for bed, but I remembered what Daycare Lady said about his schedule being off and I was like, I will just go in there and read him one story.
After The Boy Who Cried Bigfoot I tucked Theo back in, he said “Bye Mommy” (we don’t say “goodnight” yet), closed door. Immediately after this, even though it was still early in Adult Land, Dan went straight to bed because he was exhausted.
I read/watched TV for another hour then I was ready to go to bed. Theo was still wide awake, and not just babbling to himself kind of awake, but alternately screaming and crying and calling out for Mommy and Daddy.
I ignored and him and tried to sleep for yet another hour at which point I opened his door and said some extremely stern words which pissed him off but made me feel better. I came downstairs and laid on the couch and listened to him scream for about another half an hour at which point I started screaming, into my pillow. Pretty sure Dan was sound asleep at this point.
I cried, I screamed. I care very, very much about sleeping. I am significantly SIGNIFICANTLY more scared of taking care of a newborn and dealing with the no sleep thing again with Baby Number Two than I am of giving birth again. I will probably elaborate on that horror at another time.
Anyway, I downloaded a white noise app on my phone, expecting actual white noise, but it had a zillion options ranging from beach waves to ocean waves (yes, different things apparently) to rain forest to air conditioner and etc. I landed on ocean waves and laid down.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep with noise I’m not used to and headphones on but I could at least block out Theo’s screams and relax. I literally felt my heart rate slow down. I may be onto something here. This could be a coping mechanism at other times, I bet.
After maybe another hour had gone by I allowed myself to try removing the headphones. Blessed silence.
*This is a great song by The Sounds. Who have many great sounds. I mean songs.
When It’s Not the Kid, It’s the Mother
This morning was rough. I hadn’t slept much and had a wicked headache when I got up, which one hit of weed would have taken care of in one second. Maybe Baby Number Two will reward me for quitting weed fairly early on by not screaming at night. Right? Right??
Theo was gracious enough to let me lay on the couch and read and drink coffee while he had his breakfast and I slowly gathered the strength to face the day and my headache went away.
We went to an event about an hour away. It wasn’t as kid-friendly as I was hoping, but it was still pretty cool, and it’s always nice to get out of the house. Particularly since Theo tends to get restless when we stay in all weekend.
So things were looking significantly up until…my mother messaged.
If I don’t go into therapy over my mother you may be hearing about her a lot.
Brief background: I’m an only child and my mother has been up my ass my entire life. As a kid, she read my diary when I was 14. This was literally about 20 years ago and I’m still not over it. I realize this is at least partially on me – I should probably have moved on from this a long time ago, but that’s partially why I think I need therapy. I just can’t get over it. In fact, I wasn’t even going to get into it now but I will.
At the time, I had not yet smoked weed, had sex, or so much as had detention at school. (I might have had literally one or two beers at this point, I don’t remember exactly with the timing.) I wasn’t depressed. I didn’t have an eating disorder. I had no issues other than typical teenage girl self esteem ones. There was no reason to be concerned about me or invade my privacy like that.
If she could admit she was wrong I would let it go, but that would never happen. In early 2009 I tried to get her to apologize to me for it and she refused. For some reason this is something I will be haunted by until I go into my grave or at least she’s in hers. I think it’s indicative of our entire relationship and her complete lack of boundaries and space. The space issues continued through college into adulthood.
As an adult. She insists on being Very Involved in my life and my kid’s, messages me multiple times a week, and tries to see me at least a few times a month. We live an hour away from each other.
By comparison, Dan talks to his mom maybe once every few weeks and we see her once every few months. She lives 10 minutes away.
I Liked Your Post! I’ve Shared Your Post! I’m Going to Message You About Your Post!
And then there’s the social media. My mother likes and comments on every single thing I post on Facebook unless I hide her from it, and often messages me after I post something since I’m clearly online and up for chatting!
When I finally got into Twitter it was like a saving grace because she wasn’t on it. Until she was. She doesn’t comment or like as much, but she watches my every move.
Several months ago, I asked her not to look at my Twitter that much. This was hard for me to do. I generally walk on eggshells around her trying to avoid conflict at any cost, but I stuck my neck out because I desperately needed some social media space from her.
“You don’t want me to look at it like, ever?” she said.
“Maybe like just once in great while?” I replied.
To my absolute shock she agreed, and even seemed to stick to it for awhile. But then, early on in my pregnancy, I posted about feeling like crap and she messaged me to ask if I was feeling okay. After she found out I was pregnant she started messaging me almost every day asking I was feeling okay.
Shortly after that, I posted about Theo being a nightmare and how I don’t know how stay at home moms do it. She messaged me asking about that. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it thanks for understanding, and she said okay and dropped it which probably killed her.
Yesterday. I posted about not being able to find a certain item I wanted that used to be more available. Today, she messaged me a link to that item on EBay. Like I didn’t already know that was available and didn’t want to go that route.
Side note: She also messaged me the other day – the third time that day – asking if I knew the time and place for the memorial services I mentioned I went to. I’m in my 30s, but for some reason she thinks I’m incapable of googling things.
What really gets me about the Twitter thing is that she could so easily stalk me without my knowing. She could even set it so that she gets an alert every time I tweet and wouldn’t know. (I’m confident if she knew how to do this it already would have happened.) But again, I wouldn’t know, if she didn’t message me all the time about what I am posting.
She’s like a little kid with a stick poking me over and over and over again trying to get me to crack while I sit here getting jabbed, trying to remain calm, stay quiet, be the bigger person, even as blood starts trickling out and splinters make their way in.
Besides the constant messaging thing, I would like to post about my content I write (not Stoner Mom, obviously) in order to build my career and my name in my field. And also post other stuff to show my personality and hopefully build a following that could help me say sell a novel later on. But I can’t.
Because if a potential employer or publisher or whomever looked at my stuff, they’d see that my mom is my number one fan, and oftentimes, my only fan who is commenting. Real professional. I have not posted on Facebook for two weeks.
It should go without saying that dealing with this with no weed is much, much harder. Or alcohol. A drink or two would be nice.
If I don’t figure out a way to deal with this I am going to go fucking crazy and I will take Dan and my dad down with me.