I think I have a Party Animal on my hands here. How do I know this? Well, there is the obvious genetic pre-disposition. (I have been know to swing around a pole here or there and my husband has partied himself straight into the hospital before). The thing about Party Animals is that they just don't want to miss out. On anything. Ever. So, the Party Animal resists sleeping, eating, bathing, pretty much anything so long as the party continues. The Party Animal just wants to be a part of the ongoing party.
I sure don't look like I am hosting a party lately (see Silver Fox post from a few weeks back). But, you will be happy to know that I have moved beyond the homeless crack addict stage to the halfway house loony tunes phase of parenthood. Even with this positive change, I am certainly in no shape to party! Jax, however, seems to think everything is a party. To him, a party is appropriate any time, any place.
Take a few nights ago for example. I was exhausted as usual. (My recent diagnosis of adrenal exhaustion explains some of the bone-crushing fatigue I seem to feel most days). I was elated when Jax ate something for dinner (rare) and had taken an early nap. By 8pm, it looked like the party was dwindling. So, I put him to bed. By 8:30pm, I was also in bed, my swollen, bloodshot eyes grating like they were full of sand as I squeezed them closed and begged the sandman to take me.
9:30pm: Bloodcurdling screams ensue from the baby's room. I shoot up, confused and disoriented. (On occasion, I forget that the last two years has occurred. Sometimes, I wonder where I am and why there is a screaming blond child down the hall. Sometimes, I think my brain has truly been damaged by my experiences, but I digress). I race down the hall. I am his savior, his female knight in shiny armor. Here I come to save the day, I think exuberantly. He will reach his little arms around my neck and I will soothe him back to never never land....
Jax sees me and I am unprepared for the angry verbal assault that issues from his cherubic little mouth.
"Gack Gack Goo!"
He shouts this several times, reaching for me. I try desperately to figure out what he wants. Milk? No, he screams again, indignantly, "Gack Gack Goo!" Wet? No again. Something pinching him? Pajamas in a wad? Nope and nope. Hmm. My fried brain is not able to decode what he is saying. Bad dream? This gives him pause. Now, I am pretty sure he doesn't know what a bad dream is. (I also didn't realize he knew the word "shit" until he screamed it when I dropped his Blankie on the stairs).
Ok. I'll go with bad dream. I pull him into my arms and cuddle him until he drops off. Then, I attempt to put him back in bed and he wakes up as soon as his little blond head touches the pillow.
"Gack Gack Goo!"
Deliriously, I haul him back into my arms and settle him in my bed. I figure if we can sleep together, maybe we will both get more sleep. (Unlikely, but it will be safer if I am horizontal at this point, since I am starting to see three of Jax).
10:30pm: Loud snoring and kicking has prevented me from sleeping at all. This ain't working. The Dr. said I needed to get some consistent sleep. (Ha! Why doesn't he come over here at night and see what I am dealing with?!). Gingerly, I pick up Jax and carefully place him back in his bed. He sighs and starts to move around. I freeze, then silently drop down out of sight onto the floor like a stealth Mom Ninja. Maybe if he doesn't see me, I'll get away with this transgression. Thankfully, he remains asleep. Elated, I practically dance back to bed. Even if he wakes up at 5am, I could still get about 6 hours of sleep into my taxed body.
1:00am: "Gack Gack Goo! GACK GACK GOO!"
WTF. WTF. Where is my WTF stamp when I need it?! Fine, we'll stay in my bed. At least he will get some sleep and I can lay there while he kicks me and snores into my neck. Well, this time, Jax decides that going to sleep is for the birds. Well, a Rooster is a bird, so maybe he thinks going to sleep is for the bears. At any rate, the Party Animal is in full on party mode now. He says something that sounds suspiciously like, "Gaga Tuck," and I shudder, anticipating his tirade when I fail to turn on the tv in the middle of the night. Luckily, he moves on to another topic of conversation.
Every few minutes, Jax yells, "Gack Gack Goo!" He sounds more and more urgent about this undetermined thing. He is getting more and more frustrated with me. I am a complete moron, who can't decode this toddler speaking in tongues and he is very clear that I am at fault here for not being able to understand what he is saying.
4:00am: I am stumbling back from the baby's room for the umpteenth time, because he has just informed me that he wants "Jack Bed." My husband has come home from work, and I register that he is there out of the corner of my eye. I mumble something to him, (and I am later told that I said something like: "Gack Gack Goo, it's French."), and I lie down, only to hear the indignant shouting begin again.
5:00am: I am a zombie-like disaster of a wreck. Jax is completely awake now, and appears to have no recollection of Hell Night. He's smiling and giggling and does not seem to notice that Mommy is slumped over the breakfast table, semiconscious.
At some point, I am reminded of a time when I had tons of energy and so much excitement about what was going on in the world, that I didn't want to sleep either. (I am so getting it back ten fold for all those times I worried my parents sneaking out to go to rock concerts and the like. Karma, what a Bitch).
The day that follows is like shuffling through cement for me, but Jax seems no worse for wear. In fact, he seems to have gained some skills overnight. He walks around, naming colors, shapes, letters, and numbers. He counts to three, surprising me. I hear several 4-5 word phrases that are PERFECTLY articulated! He sings part of a song.
Something happened last night, inside his brain. Maybe he was trying to tell me about it. I chalk the night up to a weird developmental burst or something. But I still want to know.
"Gack Gack Goo!"
What does it mean? Someone decode please!
Hours of sleep logged that night: 2.5 (and not in a row).