“I gave her a bottle and changed her chi,” said Drew Barrymore to Oprah. She had just opened the door to her 1920s home while holding her baby to let Oprah in, and the baby started crying when Oprah entered. This led to an impromptu conversation about energy. Babies feel energy and energy changes, Oprah explained. Drew Barrymore disappeared and, thanks to the magic of television, returned seconds later with a quieted baby. That’s when she said the line about the chi.
How annoying is this all, you must want to say.
Mom, you are quoting a conversation between Drew Barrymore and Oprah. If you weren’t our mother we would want to slap you in the face, one at a time.
But they’re right, babies, they’re right!
I mean, they have to be!
Something must be off with our energy, with mine, because everything has just been–for lack of a better word-so batshit crazy. There’s no explanation for this snowball of insanity other than…something is off with my chi…
Go ahead, slap me.
Heck, maybe it would wake me up.
I can count the hours I slept last night on half of one hand.
When that book came out, “Go the f**k to sleep,” I thought, how stupid! Har, har har!
And there I was at 3:30 in the morning, thinking, breathing, seething that very line.
Go. The f*ck. To sleep.
I know how this goes. I know there are stages and changes. I know it gets easier! But harder! Everyone tells me this and, with my plum two years of this dual-intensive experience over here, I know this is true. I know there are constantly developmental changes and changes to the routine and patterns and oh my.
But our sleep routine, babies?
Our blessed little sleep routine–good night, angels, sweet dreams, turn off the light, shut the door, you play or run around a little together, then, zzz, off to your beds you go, and I exhale with a heave of relief that we made it through another day and maybe quote a little “Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead,” “the dishes are done!”–why’d you have to mess with our solid sleep routine???
(Whine, note the “h,” not the good kind.)
I can’t keep you in your beds anymore.
You’re dad and I have read 10,00 books in the past 72 hours.
They all offer tons of advice, mostly conflicting, none of which tell you want to do if your children won’t even get into their beds in the first place but charge down the hall at 100 mph.
Silently walk them back to bed, the books suggest.
Yeah, okay, because “calmly,” “silently,” and “gently escorting” are all methods you would use to when dealing with two (2) stubborn over-tired Tasmanian devils at three o’clock in the morning.
It’s a stage. We’ll get through it. We’ll forget all the books or maybe use a little bit of them all; we’ll figure out what works for us, we will.
But, when you’re in it?
When you’re so tired.
When you still cannot breath through your nose for ten days now. Ten…whole…days…
You feel off.
You feel like you’re never going to come through the other side.
(I whined to your father, “we’re never going to be able to get a babysitter and go out again..”)
You say where is the reset button?
You say someone please, slap me. Maybe it will shake up my chi.