Where we last left off, my second son had joined our family. Fast-forward nearly nine — NINE! — months, and my little baby isn’t so little anymore.

Frankly, I thought it would be way easier by now. I knew I would just have to muddle though those first few sleepless months, and then wait for the fog to dissipate. Surely it would. I would be getting more sleep — that would make everything better. Little Y, now 3, would be more independent. That would make everything better, too. I would be used to having two kids. That alone would make everything better. Right?

As with almost all things parenthood, it hasn’t worked out that way. The baby still doesn’t sleep very well at night, and his older brother — formerly a rock-solid sleeper — often throws a night waking of his own into the mix. The baby needs two solid naps a day, making it hard to get out of the house and get Little Y the stimulation he needs. Babyzilla is beyond mobile, crashing into trains and trucks and blocks and provoking his brother’s rage. I think the word “GENTLE” has lost all meaning in my house. Shouting it as much as I do is probably counterproductive, anyway.


My too-cool-for-school 3-year-old, left, and his little brother, Babyzilla

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And that independence I coveted for my older son? He’s asserting it, most definitely. But “threenager” is a term for a reason, and this Jekyll-and-Hyde age can make even the most rested person a little crazy. Throw in extreme sleep deprivation, and things can get hairy. Little Y’s bedtime stall tactics literally made me sob the other day. It’s serious crazy town here, people.

I see glimmers of an easier time every once in awhile. Maybe the baby will actually sleep one day. He won’t take a bottle, but since he’s inhaling solids, I can leave the house without him for decent chunks of time. Little Y is enrolled in preschool in the fall (though he’s supposed to be potty-trained for it — please pray for us). Once the baby drops down to one nap, we may even be able to venture out in the mornings again. And surely he will evolve into more of a playmate for his big brother and less of a “baby monster,” as Little Y calls him now.

We had friends over for dinner the other night. They have a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old, and swore up and down that things had gotten so much easier in the past year. I restrained myself from tackling them and making them swear a blood oath.

For now, though, I’m still in the weeds, relying on love (and caffeine … and chocolate) to pull me through.

 Moments like this one keep me going.