When you have a kid that doesn’t sleep, you start to draw the conclusion that it’s your fault and thus, you
suck at parenthood. I’ve been in this mode of suckage for about eleven months, three weeks and six days. You see, the Nugget does not sleep. Ever. He’s almost a year old and I can count on one exhausted hand how many times he’s made it even halfway through the night. It’s not really a shock because the Midget never slept either. Naps do occasionally happen but a schedule? Ah hells no. Most nights are so horrific I can’t even discuss it without beginning to tremble like Coco from Fame circa ‘80.
Suffice it to say, I’m tired. And cranky. So very, very cranky. But aside from giving him a little booze in his bottle, what can you do? And as my luck would have it, Nugget is a boob man and wouldn’t dream of taking a bottle.
This crappy-ass sleep pattern that somehow pops up in my offspring is one of the reasons there is a five year span between these brothers. See, being a geriatric mother as I am, I was not willing to risk doing another three to five with no sleep. When I got knocked up with the Nugget everyone reassured me that “the second child always knows their place,” and “the second child always just goes with the flow, it will be much better this time.” Well that was a load of crap.
Thanks to my little insomniac, I’ve got lots of time in the wee hours of the night to ponder my parentinginadequacies and to Google. Bad combo. I’m a Nancy Drew by nature. I need answers. I need explanations and I am prepared to Google until I know exactly why these children born to two parents who are big fans of bedtime, despise it so. Help me Google, you are my only hope.
Aside from their shared genetics, the only other shared factor are their parents -The Turk and me. They didn’t share the same crib, the same home or even the same country of origin. There is nothing about the first year in the life of my little Turks that is similar except their parents. With this information, the wizards on Google's massive list of mainstream parenting blogs and websites have drawn the conclusion that we are to blame. We suck at parenting. Damn.
If I am to believe all that I’ve read- and of course I do because everyone knows that there is only absolute truth on the interweb- every child sleeps in his own bed all night long from the age of 2 months onward and if they don’t, you suck at parenting. If you allow your children to sleep in your bed, they will die and you suck at parenting. Additionally, every other child responds positively to all methods of sleep training and if you don’t train them, you suck at parenting.
I also learned that I suck at parenting because I refer to my children as Turdnuggets and Buttheads and because I don’t buy a lot of organic crap. (Though I will admit that I’ve recently started buying some organic crap because I’ve been watching too much Dr. Oz.)
I suck at parenting because I don’t always say no to Dunkin’ Donuts and in times of extreme stress and trauma – like after a trip to the dentist- I medicate with McDonalds.
Mostly, I suck at parenting because my children never sleep and when they do it’s rarely in their own beds.
But there are things that the parenting experts on the interweb don’t cover and those more important things are the ones at which I totally rock and I feel some points should be given for that.
For instance, by the age of 3, the Midget was fluent in class A profanity in two languages– though just the PG 13 words like ass and damn – even I have the good sense to reserve the big ones for adolescence.
Thanks to my stellar parenting, my offspring have the good sense to laugh at fart jokes and point out the fact that peaches often look like butts.
My parenting has taught the Nugget, at only 11 month, to flash a spot on “Whach you talkin’ ‘bout Willis” face and to flash his dimples and grin when his ass is on the line.
Recently, I’ve also seen great signs of appropriate use of obscene gestures while stuck in traffic coming from the Midget.
Thanks to my parenting skills, my son knows to take off his shoes before stepping on the doctor’s scales in order to spare himself an extra pound.
And nothing warms my heart more than when my oldest corrects his own grammar, and often that of the Turk. That’s all me world. All me.
But yesterday it all came to a head. Just when I was getting down about this whole sleep thing and beginning to think I’d really blown this parenting gig, my 6 year old came running up to me with two pendulous avocados in a container and said- “look mom, boobs” – I beamed with pride as I laughed myself to the verge of wetting myself. That moment of comedic brilliance alone was proof that I don’t suck at parenting after all.
So perhaps my kids don’t sleep. Ever. Perhaps they are clingy and scared of their own beds. Big whoop.
They are freaking funny and in the grand scheme of the world, being a funny guy gets you a lot farther than being a good sleeper. Who ever made enough money to care for their elderly mother sleeping? No one, that's who.
Suck on that interweb parenting experts!