Midnight Snacking...Not Just For Preggies

Well...we've been buffetted by a new series of parenting opportunities this weekend.  Actually, on Saturday we took the little angel to the park for the first time since she's been a little human and not a flesh purse.  She was delighted.  After a few minutes in the baby swing and a trip down the slide (all digitally documented, of course - if I ever get around to posting the photos), we then "walked" (we hold her hands and she throws her feet out like one of Hitler's frontment) around the park, followed by a nice family stroller ride down the walking path. That was really fun.  Saturday night was also fun.  Sunday night SUCKED.  Here's why:

(1:30 a.m.)  SCREAM!!! SCREAM!!!!  cry cry cry SCREAM!!!!  (The baby is being attacked by tigers.)

(1:40 a.m.)  Appearance of mother.  Pat, pat, pat.  Lay little angel back down.  She sniffles.  Smell bottom - nothing.  Change diaper anyway.  Administer teething-kryptonite. Leave room.

(1:41 a.m.)  SCREAMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!  SCREAMMM!!!!!   HOWL!!!!  Baby fury has been unleashed. I half expect to hear her toys being hurled at the wall.  This, I'm sure, will come later.  Decide, since she is clearly unharmed, to wait.

(2:15 a.m.)  SCREAMMMING STILL!!!!  Re-enter room.  Pat, pat.  Please be quiet.  You're making Mama wish she were dead.  There, good girl.  Good night.

(2:16 a.m.)  I HATE YOU!  I'M RUNNING AWAY AND TAKING THE CAT!!!  SCREAMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!

(3:30 a.m.)  I begin to snivel a bit.  Re-enter room.  By now, the little angel is so upset she doesn't even calm down when I rub her back for a few minutes.  In frustration, I say (quite maturely), "Well, fine, then.  Cry forever."  Go back to bed.  Begin to cry myself.   Unplug monitor, place second pillow over ear, fall asleep.  Beloved tells me the next morning all was quiet within ten minutes.

So last night, I was insane - determined to do anything to get a good night's sleep, knowing that today I have to work in my insanely hostile job, then go to my second job and teach my lovable but clueless students.  I won't get home until 10 p.m. One cannot do this sort of thing without sleep.  First we called my mother.  This was our conversation:

Me:  "Ma, the little angel won't sleep."

Ma:  "Do you have mice?  Once, when you were a baby, I came into your room when you were howling and there was a big, fat mouse sitting on your changing table.  I almost died."

Me:  "I didn't need to know that. We have no mice.  Isn't she a little young to be scared?"

Ma: "No.  Your sister used to get scared of shadows and things."

Me:  "Anything else?"

Ma:  "Maybe she's hot.  Or sometimes she's cold."

There was more, but you don't want to know what other things my mother discovered that were wrong with me as a child.

I then forced my beloved to call the MIL.  She had eight kids and has going-on-fourteen grandkids - so a good source of information.  She recommended a late-night snack at bedtime of one tablespoon of rice cereal. Knowing the little angel's weight, she also kindly added, "She won't get too fat on one tablespoon."  Oh, good.  Because she's already 23 pounds at almost 11 months; I'm told this is the weight of some two-year-olds.  Usually by the parents of the lightweights.  It makes me want to get a bumper sticker that reads, "My infant can beat up your toddler.  So there."

So we tried the MIL's ideas...and they worked.  The little angel blissfully slept through, though I had the strangest dreams ever - probably because I drank two glasses of wine before bed. Big ones.  Does motherhood always cause substance abuse?