I’m just sitting here on the couch crying and I don’t know exactly why.
I think I’m just so tired.
M doesn’t really sleep at night. He wakes up every hour or two, and it’s wearing me down. But I don’t want to complain about his sleep because he’s alive and other babies – including one of my own – are dead. When I mention his sleep to other parents at kindergarten drop-off and they commiserate, I always think: ‘but you don’t really understand.’ But you know what? They do understand sleep deprivation. They just don’t understand grief and parenting with grief and that wall is always, always between us – even if they can’t see it.
I’m just so tired.
And then there is the whole business of parenting a five year old in the community I live in. It seems like we are supposed to be constantly enriching our children. What activities have you got them signed up for after school? What are you going to do about school next year? Are you looking for something better? French Immersion? Private school? Little so-and-so has started violin and oh, you’re doing gymnastics at the community centre? Hmmm, we’ve got so-and-so at the gymnastics academy in such-and-such neighbourhood…etc. etc. etc. My usual self would think, ‘hold up: she’s five! She needs to play and run and be loved like crazy. It’s okay if she’s not enrolled in Suzuki-method music lessons and it’s okay that she goes to public school and it’s okay that she just went to a regular old daycare with teachers who loved her instead of Montessori and it’s okay to be okay with the decisions I’ve made, because I’m her mother and I love her and I’m doing my best.’
But my tired self worries: are we failing her? Are we holding her back? Are we not trying hard enough? Am I doing everything wrong?
And then I also want to yell and scream at the unfairness of raising a child through the hell of all this grief. The other day I was busy comparing myself unfavourably to another mother who has always done all these neat ‘enrichment’-type activities with her kids, berating myself for not having been more creative,more educative with E, and then I realized that this mom never had to birth a dead baby, go to a funeral home to arrange cremation, pick up her dead baby’s ashes, watch her living child struggle to understand death and grief, try to figure out how you celebrate the second birthday of a baby who died two days before she was born.
It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to E, whose mother has spent so much time just trying to survive, just trying to keep going.
I know that some of what we’ve been through will serve E well. I know that she will understand things that some other kids won’t understand yet for years, and I hope that what she has experienced will help her be more empathic and understanding. I guess that’s ‘enrichment’ too, isn’t it?
I think I am just exhausted from spending time with the ‘normals.’ Since E has started kindergarten, I have rejoined the community of parents in my neighbourhood. I talk every day with other parents, most of whom have no idea that we are grieving our middle child; those of whom do know, certainly don’t understand what that means. It is exhausting. It is hard, hard work. I’m not sure why I do it to myself, sometimes, except that I also know I do it for E, who wants to walk to school with friends, and play on the playground at the end of the day, invite friends over and be invited.
Right now I want to pull the curtains around my little family, block everyone else out. I want days like we had last weekend, where we stay in our pyjamas, make pancakes for breakfast, go for long forest walks, build fairy houses, and talk to no one but ourselves.
Because she is here on those days, too.
She is so much easier to find on those days.
Oh love. I know I’ve been quiet but I’m still here, reading along.
R didn’t sleep. And it was hard. Really hard. Grief + sleep deprivation = a combination that isn’t fully understood by many.
Don’t listen to your tired self’s worries about E. You are amazing xo
I wish I lived closer so we could hang out. I have days, even now, when I can’t deal with the normals at school. Especially around C.’s birthday when everything is so close to the surface.
Plus the parental competitiveness just seems to get worse as they get older. I know families who, seriously, live in their mini-vans from school pick up every afternoon until past dinner hour. Almost every weeknight. One joked with me that they eat dinner on the road between sessions. They rattle off all the activities and lessons and ask what my kids are doing and I say, “Um, swimming lessons once a week” (and that’s only because we live near the beach now and it’s a safety issue–kids should know how to be safe in water, not because I have dreams of them being Olympic swimmers). They give me a blank stare like, “That’s it? No soccer, gymnastics, piano lessons, violin lessons, acting classes, dance lessons, Japanese classes?” Nope. I’m not into over scheduling, so I just opt out. There’s been no protest yet from the kids that they’re somehow missing out because I haven’t put them into activities four afternoons a week.
I think grief does affect our parenting. It would be naive to think otherwise. But I also suspect it’s not to the detriment that we believe it is. I know for all the cutesy, crafty, fun stuff that I didn’t do with Naya or LM because I just didn’t have the emotional fortitude to go there (ha, Catherine knows my conflicted feelings about memory books, scrapbooks, and all similar items), we connected in other ways. Like you mention, empathy and understanding go a long way. My kids have seen me on the somber days when the grief comes welling back up. I hope it shows them that dealing with tragedy and loss is a process and it’s okay to cry, to feel, and then to get up and then snuggle together on the sofa, make those cookies, maybe go for a walk.
Exhaustion just adds to it all, definitely. Naya was my non-sleeper. She didn’t sleep through the night until about 18 months. Then I ended up with insomnia after that. I was so used to living with 1am wake up calls that once she started sleeping through, I was wide awake anyway. That likewise lasted another six months.
Hang in there. ((HUGS))
Oh Jen, ugh. I’m not in the exact same boat, but you aren’t alone.
Theo doesn’t sleep. We moved him (FINALLY) to his own room 2 weeks ago in hopes that his own space would promote better sleeping habits at night. But he’s exactly the same. He’s up after the initial 2-3 hours of sleep on the hour. Some nights on the 1/2 hour. It’s a battle every night that Daniel has committed himself to taking on so I can finally get my rest. I’m up anyway at 4am to feed, and I’m the one putting him down at 9pm… and it takes over an hour some nights. And I toss and turn and finally get to sleep around midnight, so I’m still not getting good rest. But that 4 hours is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Daniel gets 2-3 hours solid at the beginning of the night, but then he’s awake with Theo – cat napping – as the up and down battle between midnight and 4-5am occurs. He then goes to bed from 5-7:30 so he can get reset and go to work. Some nights Daniel snaps, and after 2 hours of non stop rocking and patting and putting down and picking up, he comes and gets me. I told him that BEFORE he starts swearing and aggressively handling the situation to come get me. And I promised to do the same. It gets so ugly some nights. And it would me manageable if this were taking place during times of sickness, and teething or growth spurts. But it’s every night. Every fucking night.
This is taking a toll on our relationship as a couple. We are snappy, on edge, cranky, and down right horrible to each other same days.
He’s 9 flipping months old now, and still not even IMPROVING on night time sleep. Him being in his own room now gives us the ability to leave him to cry.. but we still hear him, and we’re all still awake, and CIO didn’t ever work for us. All it does is tire Theo out and bit, and tears away at my sole as a mother. It’s been doctor recommended that we continue to CIO until it works, but we’ve lost faith in her suggestions. At 4 months old she told us to start solids and he “will sleep through the night” thereafter. Such bullshit. We started at 5 months, and it made zero difference. Maybe made it worse.
We tell our story to other parents.. and they’re all “yep, so and so didn’t sleep either” but they have no recollection of the bad nights or routines at the wee hours of the night. And a lot of these people had their babies when I was close with them… and I don’t remember them talking about bad nights, and they still showed up for dinner dates, and took their kids to this or that. When you don’t sleep – you cant do anything normal. At least I cant. So, these people who try to relate to the shit we’re going through with Theo either are embellishing, or just assuming that every child sleep poorly. I would take poorly any day. Theo just doesn’t. And I could go on and on. There has been one person in my life (a close family friend of my parents – an aunt to me almost) who has been able to validate and give me comfort. Her son (who is now 31 years old) didn’t sleep until he was 18 months. And she was able to tell me stories, with detail, of the night after night battles she threw down with her infant son. I hear 18 months, and my heart sinks. But what else can I do but do what needs to be done…?
I feel like I’m in a constant groundhog day of sleep deprivation and lack of motivation. It’s the dead of winter, and we are doing almost the exact same thing, day after day. And I feel my budding baby is missing out because I cant get my shit together to make a play date, or take him to swim lessons, or a rec centre.
And grief comes it and turns everything on it’s head. Everything that is already hard and challenging. Grief presses on every issue of that’s “right” for him. I tell myself it’s ok to be gentle on myself. Theo isn’t missing out on life changing experiences because (right now) we aren’t doing much. But it’s me. I feel like I would be doing more, taking more initiative, getting more involved had I not been dealt this hand.
I probably should have emailed you. This has turned into more than just comment…
I agree with what JM said about what you are doing with E. Empathy and understanding and being exposed to real life things that are emotionally challenging go a long way for young children. And you are a great mother. A loving and supportive mother. E will take that in places in her later life to heights that ballet and piano lessons never could.
My stepmother committed suicide when I was 10 years old. I saw my father go through an emotional hell that I will never forget. He still parented us (me, my sister and brother) with his whole heart – broken to pieces – and I learned about love and heartache and what the human spirit can be put through. I don’t think I picked any of that up in the swim classes I took.
I am a great swimmer though.
I love the term “the normals”. One woman in our support group called them “the crazies”. Our daughter takes “creative ballet” at our community centre. Her first position might not be perfect but when it’s time to be a butterfly or do some ribbon dancing, the joy shoots out of her like fireworks. We’ve taken to visiting cemeteries when we’re on holiday. I imagine the normals would find this weird and morbid. We went to a park recently and she pointed to the grass and said, “It looks like a cemetery but without the headstones!” Does this make me question my parenting choices? Yep. But so far I’m ok with what comes out of that. Very ok. It’s good to question. She knows that ballet class is about having fun (and taking responsibility by trying to show up on time, and respecting the teacher by listening, and all kinds of other things), and that cemeteries are peaceful places filled with history and memories and stillness, but also stories of lives lived. I think she will live a richer life because she has to live with a baby brother who died. She already has. Sometimes when I see people raising their children not as mindfully, I wonder if I’m actually putting her at a disadvantage. Are we making her weird? That’s during those exhausted moments. Then I get a bit of rest and think that when we have to send her out into the world to make her own way, she will be better equipped than many to deal with the difficult things that life throws at her. Not that she won’t grieve or be sad, but that she hopefully won’t be so confused by her response to it, like I’m confused by mine.
Your struggles with all the “enrichment” expectations for your daughter reminded me of a friend of mine who started her son in Suzuki violin classes at 6 or 9 months. I laughed so hard, and felt judgmental for a while, then eventually I shrugged and thought “What the hell, whatever, every family is different, who am I to judge.” I know the pressure is out there. There was a lot of pressure for my parents, I think, when I was little, but I was a shy homebody and didn’t want to go to camp or take classes with my peers. They signed me up for a music camp one summer, out of town. I think I was 7 or 8. They said they took me on the first day to register, saw the intensity of the schedule–practices and lessons ALL day–and turned around and took me back to the cabin we’d rented. We went fishing and swimming and played outside instead of music camp.
I’m sorry you’re so tired. My sister talks about it constantly, the sleep deprivation of having 2 kids. Her youngest isn’t sleeping well, either. Give yourself permission to whine and complain. I don’t believe you don’t have to be grateful every second for your living children, just because you have a daughter who died. You still have a right to how you’re feeling.
I prefer the term “muggles.”
This is what I think: becoming a parent makes people crazy. Full-on, bat shit crazy. Yes, there is some biological pressure to provide our offspring with a better upbringing than we had. The very best education. The very best music lessons. The very best opportunities, snacks, teachers. . .whatever. Those ideals alone are enough to make a person crazy.
Having a baby who died made me feel the craziest.
I have honestly felt a lot of fear about having another for this very reason. The pressure and the judgement and the expectations of parenthood in this society. . .I get tired just thinking about it.
Both M and E are beautiful. Making fairy houses and digging in the mud and staying in pajamas and eating pancakes and finding ways to connect with family, both alive and dead, will result in a happier human.
Pace yourself. This is a long, long, haul of every day breakfast, lunch, dinner, bath, bedtime, laundry. Just wait until you have teenagers.
Don’t let other peoples’ neurosis get to you.