Why I Shouldn't Be Blogging Right Now...

According to a poll released Tuesday by the National Sleep Foundation (NSF), 60 percent of American women say they don't get enough sleep. And working mothers (72 percent) were the most likely to experience sleep problems such as insomnia. Shocking revelation, right?!

As reported in Newsweek:

"Women spend the last hour before bedtime watching television, doing household chores, or working in front of a computer. All of these activities make it harder to fall asleep."

So guess how I spent my last hour? Editing an article. Answering e-mail. Reading Newsweek online while trying to think of something to blog about (see, I found it!). My Web activity was also interspersed with channel-surfing, watching "General Hospital," and going through piled up mail and papers. And, yes, through it all, I've been exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night, although it was better than the night before. I could pass out right here on the couch with my laptop on my lap. But this is the only "me" time I have in the day. C'mon, working moms, admit it: Wouldn't you rather sacrifice a little sleep than give up your alone time? Once I publish this, though, I have to head to bed. I'm shot.

So off I'll go. And lie there. And lie there some more. That's when I start thinking about all the crap I have to do tomorrow. Then I hear J.J. rustling around and start praying it's not going to be one of those inexplicably bad nights with him. Then I turn over and realize how loud and rhythmically Pat is snoring. Now I have to take off my socks because I'm hot. And then put them back on 10 minutes later because I'm shivering. I finally get comfortable and then I get a sudden uncontrollable itch on my calf. Don'tcha freakin' hate that?! I scratch and scratch just short of drawing blood. The itching stops -- thank God! I roll onto my back and I'm comfortable, except now I have to sit up to fix my ponytail, which is digging into the back of my head. Aarggghhh! Oh forget it. Now I'm up. I might as well see who's on Letterman. Is it too late to pop an Advil p.m.?

G'night.

I'm Back!!! (And so are the sleep issues... )

Well, dear readers, if if seems I haven't had all that much free time to blog lately, there's a reason, and his name is J.J. Gone are those sacred 2-3 hour naptimes (his, not mine -- I wish!) on my days off. I know that there are three- and even four-year-olds who sweetly lie down each day at their specified naptime and wake up happy and refreshed, and I was hoping my son would become one of them. But at two and a half, the dream is over.

For one thing, J.J. simply has been refusing to nap for me without a fight (and sometimes, not at all!) for the last couple of months. Although he eagerly napped for his dad and grandmother, with me, he'd whine for an hour, finally fall asleep way too late in the afternoon, and then want to stay up until 10 p.m. or later. What was the point of that?!

So this week, I've taken a stand against common practice and officially declared a no more nap rule. And I'm totally OK with it! Now J.J. and I really get to spend the whole day together. Get this: Just the other day, he finished doing a puzzle, and after doing his celebratory arm-flapping dance (it's hysterical, I swear!) he turned to me and said, "Mommy's turn." How cool is that?! It kind of means I no longer just take care of him -- instead, we hang out. We have conversations, make silly jokes, sing silly songs, and dance goofily around the house. This is what I've been waiting for all along! Sure, I've loved my son since the first minute I saw him, but now he's my best pal, too.

Other napless day perks? Let's see... I don't have to rush home from our morning outings to make sure we're back for naptime or rearrange plans around it. And, here's the best part -- I've gotten my evenings back since my sleepy boy welcomes his earlier bedtime without a struggle. My husband and I feel like grown ups again, with more time to enjoy adult conversation.

If all goes according to plan and my extra evening time isn't a fluke, I just may get back into the blogging game -- that is if I'm not too exhausted from all the puzzles and dancing.

Growing Up

J.J. will be 2 and 1/2 on November 24th and both my husband and I have not gone away overnight together -- not even once! It's totally my fault. Thinking back, from night one, I've always had an excuse as to why I couldn't spend a night away from J.J. In the first few sleepless, C-section-agonizing days home, I refused my mom's offers for nighttime help, insisting the only way I'd learn how to care for a newborn was to do it myself. The truth is, I know I wouldn't have slept because I'd be up wondering if he was OK.

Once J.J. slept through the night -- lucky us, starting at about two and a half months -- that was our chance to plan an overnight getaway. After all, whomever stayed with J.J. would just have to hang around in the offchance he woke up during the night. But it wasn't even a thought at that point. I reasoned that if we broke our routine, we'd mess up his perfect bedtime ritual. Really, I just couldn't bare the thought of not being there for him. It's bad enough I was already dealing with the guilt of going back to work part-time. What kind of a mother would I be if I acted like some childless woman, following my every whim?

Don't get me wrong. I relished (and still do!) those daytime moments out of the house when someone would offer to watch him for a couple of hours, whether I'd get my nails done or just wander around CVS without a 20-pound stroller, diaper bag, and fussy baby. But nighttime is a whole different story. That's always been my job, and I pride myself in never having taken a personal day.

Then came the dark ages... when J.J. the Conquerer invaded our bed. Now I couldn't possibly leave him with anyone even though there were many nights that I wanted nothing more. After all, he was such a light sleeper, awaking at the slightest noise or movement. And if he called for me and I wasn't there, he'd go into a frenzy. I couldn't put anyone throught that.

Once the dark ages ended and a new age -- a big boy bed renaissance, if you will -- came to pass, peaceful nights returned. Well, mostly, except for the occasional inexplicable crying in the middle of the night. It happened just last night, in fact. We're not sure what causes J.J. to wake up screaming -- a bad dream, a headache, night terrors, the last of those molars coming in? It's anyone's guess, but lying awake last night, I realized that I was coming down with something: a severe case of separation anxiety. Yes, mommies, get it, too.

My case of it stems from what's approaching. You see, this Friday my husband and I will be spending our first night away from J.J. to celebrate my upcoming 30th birthday. The plans have been in motion for weeks now. He'll be sleeping at his grandma's house. I'm bringing his sleeping buddy, Curious George, and his favorite bedtime CD. And we'll really only be gone 24 hours or so, since we plan to head back on Saturday afternoon (can you hear me rationalizing?). Plus he loves spending time with his grandma and is used to taking naps there so there's nothing to worry about...right?

Nothing except of course, that he'll have one of his crying fits, calling for mommy and I'll be 100 miles away partying in Atlantic City, too drunk (hopefully) to drive home. Will all my fun be worth the pathetic look on his face if ever I try to leave him again? Or worse -- he'll curl up on his pillow, his hand on George's head, and sleep the whole night through without asking for me once. That'll mean my little boy's growing up. And I guess that means it's time this almost-30 year old does, too.

"Victory is Mine!"

If you watch "Family Guy," you recognize that title as Stewie's mantra as he gets the last laugh over his mom Lois. Since J.J. starting babbling, we've joked that he's just like Stewie, always strategizing, calculating, and chuckling to himself about the chaos he can cause on a whim. Or better yet, we liken him to the velociraptors in "Jurassic Park" that jump at the electrical fences, each time in a different spot, to test for weaknesses.

That's J.J. -- smart as a whip, ultra-observant, never missing an opportunity to explore newfound territory, like a drawer missing a safety latch, a glass of soda left dangerously close to the edge of a table, or the boundaries of my sanity. As a mom, I have to try to stay one step ahead of him all the time, always being "on," never letting him discover my weaknesses, while walking the fine line of allowing him to explore, learn, and develop. And I wouldn't have it any other way. He's really perfect to me in every way imaginable. Well, there is that one thing...

It's the battle I've lost every night for nearly two years. J.J. learned early on of my weakness for his puppy-dog eyes, pout lip, and the pathetic way he'd stand next to my bed with his little head resting near my pillow as he'd wait for me to pick him up and let him sleep between my husband and I. Night after night, I'd put off the impending showdown, reasoning that I really liked when he snuggled up against me most nights, and eventually he'd understand the need for his own (and our) personal space and stay in his "big boy" bed. In reality though, I've had countless kicks to the kidneys, gotten punched in the eye and nose, haven't enjoyed more than a two-hour stretch of uninterrupted sleep, not to mention its effect in the romantic department. I have spent many a sleepless night agonizing over my -- ahem -- sleepless nights, while watching "Family Guy" reruns. Ooh, that Stewie...

Labor Day weekend 2006: The time had finally come when J.J. would have no choice but to sleep in his own room. At least that was our long-weekend plan, one we'd tried before. This time, we put up a safety gate so J.J. couldn't come pitter-pattering into our room at night, explained to him the deal (adding a few measures of bribery including a trip to Toys R Us the next morning if he complied), and braced ourselves -- we knew what was coming.

Screaming. Wailing. Pleading. Pwitty Pwease-ing. Nearly two hours of J.J. preying on my weakness of not being able to ignore his cries. But this time, I had a new secret weapon. The advice of dear friends who assured me that no matter how painful it is to hear your child cry, it would be worth it to him in the end since he'd ultimately sleep better. Oh, and the haunting thought of another friend's daughter who still sleeps with them at age 4. Imagine doing this for another two years?!

Finally the cries turned to whimpers. Then silence. Then snores. Then came morning when we all realized we had made it through the toughest night. I think I hugged and kissed J.J. for about 15 minutes straight. J.J. couldn't wait to tell his Grandma and Nonna what a big boy he was. We had our trip to Toys R Us as promised, followed by night two. Just 10 minutes of crying this time. Then sleepy smiles and cuddling with Curious George. Night three. Not a sound. Just the low hum of our TV. Stewie was on again declaring, "Victory is Mine!"... only no one was awake to hear it.