taking it in the tooth (two steps forward, one back)

Jonah was up last night from 2am to 4am. In his entire life, I don’t think we’ve ever had a night like that. Maybe one. We’ve had nights full of night wakings, back in the day, but not this. Not a two hour stint of POSITIVELY INCONSOLABLE CRYING.

The thing about being the parent of such a verbal kid is about, say, 80 percent of the time, he can express what he needs and, give or take a few percent, we can give it to him.

He even decides whether he wants Tylenol or not. He’s remarkably clear.

So, we think he’s sick of being sick (he’s had a cough since last week). We think he’s teething like crazy — swollen lumps all over his gumline, the nightly demands to press a hand or both to the sides of his face.

But still, two hours? He had some boop — a rare occurrence (title of the post I haven’t written: The Waxing and Weaning).  He had a couple of bottles. He refused Tylenol in the first hour but towards the end of the second he accepted it. He wasn’t screaming. More a wailing/moaning. Most of it with his eyes closed (night terrors? too tired to be awake, too in pain to sleep?) calling “mommy mommy mommy” even though I’m already right there, holding him. Per his occasional coherent requests, I read him books; sat him on the potty. I walked, I rocked, nothing helped.

(This description makes it sound like Scott wasn’t there. He was. Jonah wouldn’t let him hold him. So he prepared bottles, paced the room with us, called the advice nurse for help — she had nothing to offer.)

Towards the end of hour two I had the sudden sense memory of our colicky though not diagnosed as colic first three months.

So I flipped him onto his side, cradled TIGHT in my arms, rocking my whole body back and forth from one foot to the other while simultaneously bouncing him up and down and sang verse after verse of the California Drinking Song.

Finally, he fell asleep.

* * *

So, about that weaning. He was down to once a day, in the mornings mostly. And then he started skipping days.

I’m glad, and sad, and sometimes I feel very very bad. (Where is the Dr. Seuss book of motherhood? Must write this.) The bad feelings being a result, I think, of the waning hormones. What a psychadelic trip pregancy, birth, and nursing hormones put a person through. Sheesh.

I didn’t think I’d miss it. I do and I don’t. It’s complicated, not surprisingly.

He popped on for a few minutes during anti-sleep-mageddon last night, but I think it was as much desperation on his part as mine, wishing for something to flip a switch in him and calm him down.

* * *

Yesterday, we were on the kitchen floor.

“Picnic!” Jonah says. Being familiar with picnics pictured in a variety of his books.

I was offering a strawberry Pok-i-boh. “This is the kind of popsicle mommy ate while she was in labor with you,” I said.

He wasn’t interested in holding it himself, but was happy when I bit off pieces and fed them to him. So we did that for a while. Him occasionally crawling away and then coming back for more.

At one point, he stood up, walked two steps forward, and sat in my lap to receive the piece of popsicle.

Stood up. Walked two steps.

On his own. Without any fanfare. Clearly without thinking too much about it.

Yahoo!!!!!!!