My Chicklet’s Perfect Storm

So...I know I’ve alluded to a bit of trauma-drama we’re going through right now with my beloved seconborn, and I thought tonight might be a great time to catch you up on all the deets (‘cause why the heck not, on this random November hump day, amiright??)

(Warning: if you’re opposed to cliched poo talk, walk away now. Close your browser, put down your phone and just abandon ship.)

So...to sum up our Chicklet problems easily:

My girl just ain’t sleeping soundly.

She might look super-duper adorable and innocent, but she’s currently ageing me at an exponential rate, and giving herself under-eye bags and cranky pants and emotional trouble, on ocassion.

Yep, I’m talking about you, you cutie-pie with the braided hair.

Basically, she’s up multiple times a night, often needing Mama or Daddy to come check on her/lay down with her in her room (or at the very least, assure her from the monitor), and the multiple nightly interruptions and ensuing non-restful sleep is certainly taking its toll—on her and on us.

It’s. A. Bummer.

It feels like having a newborn again.

And it’s totally ironic timing because in the late summer (post-Chicklet’s leg cast trauma of another kind), I was absolutely counting my sleep blessings in terms of not having any single kiddo in a downward spiral phase.

So you know the drill—don’t count your chickens.

After much thought (because who wouldn’t want to solve this problem, stat??) I’ve isolated three equally-contributing issues to the slumber trouble:

1. Chicklet is currently in a bit of a scaredy-cat phase and simultaneously an attachment phase. (‘cause why not have a double whammy??) The girl just doesn’t want to be on her own—at all. Even in broad daylight.

2. She just kicked off a major tiny person transition of being away from Mama for the first time at preschool. And though it might seem as if that’s old news in November, she’s really only completed two full months, (and Chica had detachment angst long past that mark). And, yep, these first and second items are definitely related, compounded chicken/egg issues, fo sho.

3. And lastly—this one is a physical problem, though I’ve most certainly entertained the idea that it’s a way for her to control something as other things that she can’t control are changing—my girl just won’t poo. She is literally holding it in for days and days and days, until it’s causing major discomfort and absolutely, no-doubt-about-it, impacting her sleep.

I mean, can I get an oye, oye, oye.

Obviously, there ain’t much I can do about her scaredy-cat phase—other than reassure her that there are not, in fact, monsters under her bed or behind her bedroom chair, or in her closet (Halloween ghosts and ghouls, you haven’t done me any favors on this front, thankyouverymuch). 

And there ain’t much I can do about the preschool transition—other than to give it time. It’s just a major milestone and right of passage, and you can’t speed it up. It just is.

So that leaves the poo.

It’s the one thing I can possibly fix to try and eliminate at least one sleep-interrupting trigger. But, boy, is it a pain in the you-know-what (pun intended), and just an ever-loving daily battle.

I should note at this point that this particular problem is, unfortunately, not anything new for the hubby and I. Chica went through this exact poo embargo phase, at pretty much the exact age, and there just wasn’t much to be done—beyond Miralax, Pedialax, tablets, tonics, chewables, liquids, fiber, probiotics, and pretty much any and all old wives tale you can think of. Ha.

We’ve done it all—including consulting our pediatrician.

And we’ve done it all with Chicklet, too.

With one (well, two) major differences:

1. Apparently, Chicklet has an even more strongly enforced iron will than Chica had during this stage.

2. When it had to be done, I was able to administer enemas to Chica and she hated it (and why wouldn’t she???) but she handled it stoically.

But my Chicklet, ohhhhh, my Chicklet. She goes wild and crazy and just downright makes me feel like it’s a violation, so I’ve avoided it at all costs.

(I told you to abandon this post if you don’t wanna hear these yucky poo truths!)

However.

On Sunday night, Chicklet reached the 10-day embargo mark (TEN FLIPPIN’ DAYS), and was in such a great amount of discomfort that she was barely sleeping longer than 45-minute stretches at a time, and groaning in pain in her sleep.

So I did what I had to do for the sake of her health and rest.

And it was awful.

And I’d promised her for days that she could have a prize if she went, and even though I had to force it, it was just so awful, my girl got her dang prize.

Honestly, I would have given her a pony!

She asked for ice skates (aka: roller skates, ha), and I got them yesterday while she was at achooo, and she was chomping at the bit to try them out (on the carpet in the playroom, with knee and elbow pads, which is how we’ll use them).

She so graciously allowed her siblings to take turns when she grew tired (which she did, stat, because, hellooooo, she’s not sleeping and had a long day at school!), and they were pumped.

They’re all adorably clumsy and are pretty much just walking/scooting along, but it’s really cute.

And, obviously, it’s not about the prize itself, but the reason behind the prize and the hope that we can get this thing under control!









After the trauma of that forced end to Chicklet’s 10-Day embargo, I’ve implemented a new regimen of really getting ahead of such a lengthy stretch and administering sort of a trifecta of over-the-counter meds to help forcibly move things along.

And I’m thrilled to report that we’ve had success once since then already.

So we’re just going to keep plugging away at this issue—just as we had to do with Chica—and hope that we can get in a better, healthier pattern, and for the love of all that is holy, get in a better sleep phase.





So there you have it.

Some of the yucky and bad and ugly of Mom Life that everybody goes through, just so you know it ain’t always sunshine and roses at our casa.

But I’m grateful for all my babies all the time—even at 2 a.m. when they’re giving me new gray hairs.

Life wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t interesting, right???

:)

Happy Hump Day, peeps!