Torture

No . . . this will not be a philosophical treatise about the moral dilemmas of water-boarding--just a post about the trials and tribulations of new mommy-hood. I was watching a MI-5 episode (the British show Spooks) last summer, and I found myself commiserating with the villain of the episode, because the MI-5 officers were torturing him by forcing him to listen to a certain sound frequency which was supposed to be the most painful to human ears. Before parenting a newborn, I might have laughed and found the idea absurd, but after several weeks of listening to my baby scream, I completely identified with the concept: particular sounds can be torturous. And there is nearly nothing worse than an infant's cry. I suppose God made it that way--mothers are supposed to care for their babies, and only the most hard-hearted of mothers could listen to her baby wail without some kind of emotional response--but for me it has occasioned untold stress.

When I was pregnant, I knew my baby could take after my husband (who, apparently, slept for hours at a time as a newborn), or me (a crazy baby who did not sleep well and who screamed and bit and kicked, etc., etc., etc.), and I entreated God for an easy child, especially because our condo did not contain any extra space (not even a Harry-Potter-sized closet under the stairs!). But God did not grant my request, and I choose to believe in faith that it was for my own good, even though there have been many times in the past ten months that it has not seemed that way. Before I had a baby, I used to be dogmatic about the infant sleep debate, but now I believe each family should do what it must to survive. I intended to sleep-train Teddy, but since he has shared our bedroom since birth, that has proved nearly impossible. Many kind, thoughtful people have suggested to me, "You should let him cry," but I don't think they realize I HAVE let him cry, over, and over, and over again. My stubborn little son seems desperately determined to cling to his nighttime feedings. :sigh: I haven't given up trying to get him to sleep through the night, but after many failed efforts I know it will take weeks, not days, to help him build better habits.

Meanwhile, I am growing successively more tired, and it is rather a miracle that I am not mumbling to myself in some mental hospital by now. Haha. Between the sleep deprivation and the stress of listening to my baby scream, I have reached the limits of my strength, and if I was in a torture chamber I would be yelling, "I give up! I'll tell you what you want to know! Just give me a quiet room where I can sleep!" :-P All is not lost, though. Do you have those days when God blesses you not just a little but far more than you ever could have hoped? I had a day like that this week. We finally received our housing assignment for Istanbul, and we will be living in a three bedroom, two and a half bath apartment in one of the nicest districts of the city. To go from cute but cramped living quarters to more than enough space . . . ? Well, I'm just so overwhelmed with gratefulness that I don't even have the words to describe it. So hang in there, self. It won't be like this forever.

And as for my health journey, I am now on a dairy-free, gluten-free diet. Depending on how I react to reintroducing gluten in a few weeks, this may be temporary or permanent. The dairy-free part is here to stay, though, since I've known for years that I have a milk allergy (I just chose to ignore it sometimes and eat yummy things like ice cream!). Part of me wonders, "How long can I sustain this?" My husband asked me tonight, "Do you feel better?" I thought, "Yes! But I miss Milton's bread and milk chocolate and Barbara's shredded oats and cookies and ice cream and so much more!" He's right, though. The truth of the matter is, I DO feel better, and that's worth more than the ephemeral pleasure of a delicious ice cream cone, a scrumptious plate of French toast, or a warm chocolate chip cookie.