Barren Mare

Sun signs

We changed the clocks back on Sunday, and already it feels like a sudden plummet into winter. The dark, it makes me sleepy. And cold. Already I feel the urge to huddle around the radiator for warmth (since my fireplace probably doesn't function and is blocked off with a really ugly tile which I painted over immediately upon moving in.)  Botany's grandmother keeps knitting these funny hats for her; the designs are sweet but are about six sizes too big. I'm wearing one now, plunked on top of my head in my chilly study.  

Thanks to a dedicated approach to bedtime scheduling, we survived the time change transition with almost no problems whatsoever. I just kept pushing Botany's sleepytime fifteen minutes later each night and on Saturday managed to keep her up until 9pm. That was the worst of it, actually- she had woken up at 6am, had a one hour nap and it felt like the day was just.never.going.to.end. It was worth it though when she slept in until 7am on the new timetable. 

I may have mentioned this here, briefly, or elsewhere but the gadget which has helped enormously with  our sleep battles is the Gro-Clock. Oh, it is a thing of fabulousness. I'm not sure you can easily acquire them in the States or Canada, but if you can get your hands on one, I highly recommend it.* Basically, it's a jazzier version of what I was proposing to do with the blue light on a timer; that is, teach Botany that when the light comes on, I will come in. It has sun image settings and moon image settings; all you do is switch to the night time setting at bedtime and the sun does this little sleepy wink, goes away and a blue half moon (and countdown stars) come out. In the morning, at the pre-set time of your choosing, the sun automatically comes back up. It was relatively simple to convey the concept to Botany, but for added assistance, the clock comes with a small board book with a cute story about a sleepy pig. 

I gave it to Botany for her second birthday, and it took a couple of weeks before she seemed to fully understand. The key, it seemed, was to be completely consistent about not going in to get her until the sun came up on the clock. Initially, in order to avoid a long hideous early morning crying session, it meant choosing an appropriately early wake up time so that she didn't have to lie there for ages, awake and waiting for me to come in. Gradually, I started setting the timer a bit later and now she quite often just sleeps through the wake-up sun changeover.   

I won't pretend it's a magic wand; there are still the odd occasions where she might wake up, either in the middle of the night or very early in the morning. On the whole, we've noticed a huge difference. Sometimes I hear her stirring in the crack of dawn and I still hold my breath. Sometimes I think she's probably awake and reading a book in her cot (or perhaps doing the crossword). But she usually stays quiet and often it does seem like she goes back to sleep and ultimately, I don't really mind what she does in there, as long as I don't have to go in to start the day before 6am.  

The other thing which doesn't seem to have made all that much difference is that we have finally done away with the morning nursing session once and for all. It took about two weeks, with the odd relapse, to break the habit- and in the end, I was convinced that habit was all that it was. Part of my decision to persist with the early morning weaning was, admittedly, down to the ongoing difference of opinion between Knox and myself on the subject and my secret and somewhat childish desire to demonstrate that Botany's early waking had nothing to do with boobs and that I was right, right, right. But I stress that I wouldn't have done it unless I felt like the end consequence- that is, that she would effectively be more or less totally weaned as a result- was the right way to go at this point. And you know, I did feel that way. 

There was one morning when we sat together for ages and she would not let go and basically gnawed on me, while attempting endless spare nipple twiddling (a quirk that I used to tolerate but which was gradually starting to make me want to climb out of my freaking skin). It had none of the pleasure and sweetness that our bedtime nursing still has. And I thought to myself- "I am starting to detest this, and we're going to be late for work/nursery again, and I am done."

 She kicked up a fuss for awhile, that is, until she discovered the alternate joys of back rubbing ("Fingernails, Mummy! Use fingernails!") and in the end, it was so much easier than I had anticipated.

So, we're really down to one nursing session just before bedtime. With varying degrees of tolerance, Botany will allow other people, including Knox, to put her to bed if I need or want to be elsewhere, so I see no overwhelming reason to stop until she's more ready. Some nights, she doesn't even ask, so I am pretty sure we will get there before too long.    

*The only criticism I would make about the clock is that the back lighting is adjustable but when even when it is on on the dimmest setting, it can seem quite bright in a dark room. This worried me initially, that Botany would be awakened but it doesn't seem to be causing a problem, especially as it's more of an ambient sort of light and I have the clock positioned such that her head is still lying in shadow. Oh, and if they could come up with a remote control to change the pre-set times without having to go in, that would be absolute genius. 

Clean slate

I'm reading all your comments on the last post with great interest; many thanks to those who took the time to respond and share your own experiences.

Since several people asked, I think I may as well address the infertility angle to the discussion about having a second child. Essentially (and as strange as this may sound initially), I have no actual reason to believe that Knox and I are going to have the same experience that E. and I did in having trying to have a child. The only diagnosis, if you can call it that, that E. and I ever received during our infertility travails was "unexplained".  Further evidence would suggest that I can, in fact, get pregnant and carry a baby to term. So,given that history together with starting over with a new partner (with no infertility issues of his own that we know of), I like to think that in most respects, it's a clean slate as far as trying to conceive.

Ha. Just like that, I've canceled my own infertility subscription.

Now, I don't mean to tempt fate and I certainly don't mean to be cavalier about something that dogged my steps in such a terrible way for such a long time. I'm fully aware of the steady drum beat of impending doom that accompanies conception attempts for those of us pushing forty. But at the same time, unless a problem emerges or until there is something to suggest otherwise, I don't see any sense in panicking about ART. In any event, I'm fairly certain that's not a route I would want to go down again. I'm not going to categorically assert that I would NEVER avail myself of assisted conception treatments, since oh ha ha ha, that's exactly what I said when E. and I started trying to have a baby and look where that got me. I like to think that we could approach this on the basis of "well, if it happens, it happens and if not, there is at least a Botany." That we could set out with the equivalent of an infertility living will- no conception by extraordinary means, please.

But the mind is a funny thing, and I'm fully aware that there's a big emotional seismic shift when you discover that the thing you sort of wanted but weren't quite sure about? Oh, you actually can't have it anyway. Whereupon you burn with the white hot desire of a thousand suns for that which cannot be yours, and all bets are off as to what you would or would not do to get it. And I know that I would probably be content with just a Botany for the rest of my life, but Knox? Well, as someone quite rightly pointed out, there's a longing on his side as well that must be recognised, and I'm not entirely sure where it will take us, ultimately. 

My mindset to medical intervention at this point would include egg freezing- I confess I hadn't really considered such a thing. I think, if we were to delay trying, at most we'd be looking at six months or so, which doesn't seem like it's really worth it, somehow. And whether or not it's technically possible to freeze and reuse eggs in my case, neither Knox or I want to be embarking on parenting when we much older than we are now (I'm 39 and he is almost exactly one year younger than me.) If nothing else, dealing with sleep deprivation as we age seems to me a bit like recovering from a hangover- it takes us both that much longer to bounce back. And aside from any of that, it's expensive, it's not widely available in this country, and in light of my current battles to find time to get to the grocery store, I honestly don't think I could manage the scheduling required.

Speaking of scheduling, we change the clocks back here this coming Sunday. In anticipation, over the last few days, I decided I would slowly try to push Botany's bedtime back later so that by the weekend she's on target for a 9pm downtime. Meaning that she will be more likely to wake up at something approaching a civilised hour of 6pm (as opposed to, say, 4 or 5am). Unfortunately, my cunning plans are being thwarted by her persistant renewal of a 5.15am kick off the last couple days- which makes it hard to keep her up past 8pm.  Goddamn DST. I am grumpy and more than a little irritable about it all.

 

The arguments for and against

Having struggled to compose something coherent, I came to the conclusion that my feelings on having a second child are proving difficult and big and complicated (read: long-winded)- too much so to be dealt with in a single post. So I'm going to chop it up into a series, which I hope doesn't come off as too navel gazing- but if it does, at least it will be bite sized. Also, I realised that I tend to frame all my considerations on the subject quite negatively, so to ensure a sense of balance to the overall question, I'm going to try to put more in terms of arguments for and against. Ultimately, the whole discussion is perhaps futile in some ways, other than making me feel like I've thought it through properly since in many ways, it's really not all up to me.

Let us begin.

A.  How can I even think about having another child when I am often completely exhausted by the one that is already here?

This is probably the biggest stumbling block for me, and the area in which I have a lot of trouble deciding if I have I anything resembling perspective. I love Botany, I love her I love her I love her, but as I've explained previously, there are days when I feel like I've had every last wisp of energy sucked out of me by her relentless life force. In all honesty, it's recently become a tiny bit better- some of her behavioural wobbles have calmed down a bit and she is beginning to embark on a certain amount of imaginative play which does not seemingly require my constant, focused input. Some of the raging tantum tendencies have subsided. And she is quite a bit less prone to supergluing herself to my leg every moment and wailing the second I leave the room for any reason. But there are still good days and bad days; on the latter I want to hide in the pantry until her bedtime.

I have a lively, intense, spirited child. From the moment she was born until quite recently, I've been more or less left to deal with her on my own much of the time, all the while juggling the demands of dealing with a messy breakup, holding down a job and starting over. Now that Knox and I are finding our groove a little bit, we're doing better at sharing the parenting burden (at least as much as possible with him still away three days a week). It's lovely to see us gelling as a family and on those occasions, I feel like someone has lifted a weight off my shoulder. And I suddenly realise that this is what a great many other mothers have always had. That this was the way it was meant to be, with two parents in the equation. That the fact that I was grossly shortchanged on the help and support I needed for a major portion of her life should not colour my expectations as to what it would be like having two childen. And I get this wave of hope that we could pull it off, that it would be OK, that it wouldn't be like last time. But- at least in the short term, I'm still partly stuck managing on my own with Botany, which makes it hard to see my way to that with complete clarity and certainty. 

Knox once pointed out to me that he didn't want the fact that Botany has been, to a degree, "difficult" to be the deciding factor in whether we had a second child. I thought that was fair enough point, since why should be effectively be up to her? I am also perhaps foolhardy enough to believe that all kids are different and we could actually wind up with a easygoing baby. I also think that some of the problems I have encountered with Botany are largely the result of my inexperience and anxiety as a first time parent together together with the circumstances we found ourselves in and my role as the one constant presence in her life (as well as my earlier tendency to give in to her every whim so as to function day  to day/keep the peace).

But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that- whether due to Botany's inherent temperment or from other factors- there are some things which I am very loathe to even contemplate going through again.

So, argument one for- Chances are, it'd be so much better the second time around, for so many reasons! I'm older! I'm wiser! Inow know that I am one tough cookie and clearly I can handle all manner of chaos and complication. Plus, two parents in a committed relationship! Imagine! 

Argument against- I've already been through a certain amount of crap in the first two years of my first child's life and I'm feeling a little drained as a result. I'm not sure I'm up to dealing with whatever comes my way. If anythings went badly- not so much in terms of the short term bouts of suckiness but more in a large scale pemanent sense, I fear I would probably go nuts or else expire in a quiet *whuft* of tired air.

 

Tweeting with my coat on

When I was a kid, I vividly remember coming home from being out somewhere with my mother- probably from one of the endless trips to ballet lessons, flute lessons, voice lessons, Girl Scouts, drama club, gymnastics or visiting one of my friends- all of whom lived at least 45 minutes away. Bear in mind that I grew up in rural Driveforeversville, USA. My mother, without even taking off her coat, would immediately embark on a task, such as unloading the dishwasher or feeding the cat or heating up something on the stove. It's that last one I can recall so clearly- her small back in her bright red winter coat, stirring earnestly over the burners while I stood on the other side of the kitchen watching her and (obviously not doing much to assist, other than staying out of the way.)

For years, I never understood what would compel someone to behave that way- to be so frantic and consumed with chores that they couldn't even take time to get their outerwear off when coming inside. And then I became a mother. Tonight I caught myself opening the mail, unwrapping a smoothie carton to give to Botany, including precision straw work, unpacking her lunch bag and starting up the crockpot with tomorrow's dinner, before realising that I myself had failed to remove my own coat. Huh.

I'm sort of sick of blogging about how busy I am all the time, probably as much as you are tired of reading about it, but as a theme in my life, it is absolutely pervasive. It is definitely on the list of reasons (that I will soon share with you) as to why I am petrified- oops, I mean ambivalent, about having another kid. I often feel that if I am stretched any thinner, I will just become totally unglued. And then I worry that I am just a big, selfish whiner, and I should just get used to (and get over) the reality that parenting-at least in the early years- means No Time to Do Anything for Self, much less Remove Coat.

But more on that another time (if I ever finish writing the post.) In the meantime, I have discovered Twitter. Ah, Twitter. You know, I'd like to say that I was simply resisting it for ages for a number of reasons but the bottom line is that I just didn't get it. I mean, I knew roughly what it involved and I knew people that Tweeted or Twittered or whatever you call it, but frankly, I could not quite grasp what all the fuss was about. Or why anyone would actively want to do it.

And then it started to bug me that I didn't get it. I began to have this sneaking suspicion that everybody else in the entire Internetoverse had discovered something that I was too dense (or, erm, too lazy) to figure out. I found myself having entire conversations about it in my head- that is, my lack of Twittery- first, in the small spaces of the day when I was too tired to think about anything else, and then in the shower, driving to work, rocking Botany to sleep in the dark.

Finally it dawned on me that part of the problem was that before now, I wasn't really sure that anyone would be remotely interested in my micro-streams of consciousness. But then, I was thinking of the Real Me, not the Alter Ego that inhabits this blog and writes freely about all manner of things that people occasionally seem to find interesting. It also seemed a tidy solution for being able to spurt out those little clips that do occur to me but which I can't see a way to making into big long blog posts. So when I had the great epiphany to join the Twitter collective as Barren Mare*, it felt like I had solved some tremendous puzzle.

Which for everyone else is possibly like, "Yeah. Obviously. Duh".

Anyway, should you happen feel compelled to follow whatever it I have to say on a (hopefully more frequent) sound bite basis, the linky thing for doing so is now on the blog sidebar. Or you can just read the most recent entries when you visit here, thus throwing a few pence toward some ad revenue into my begging hat.

*I had actually considered at one point changing the name of the blog. But then, you know, it might be relevant again depending on how Project Second goes. And also, it seems a bit like bad luck. You know, like changing the name of a boat spells certain doom.