bipolar

Sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down. Sometimes you’re neither up nor down. And sometimes you sure-as-shit just don’t know whether you’re up or down. Welcome to the Bonick campus, north by northwest.

Our beloved Ben [or as we have recently begun referring to him: Benjamin P] has fallen into a habit of sleeping for like 20 hours a night just so long as his mother is in the room adjacent. But when mother dearest goes to work, and that’s two-to-three nights a week between the hours of sun-friggen-set and sun-fracken-rise, B.P. loses all ability to close his eyes, or for that matter lay down, or sit still, or stay quiet or be generally peaceable. The Ben and I have established a magical moment in our nightly without-mom adventures that I like to call “two-thirty”. It is at this moment that I make an innocent turn in my sleep only to be awakened by that positively awful sound coming from that positively awful baby-monitor on the nightstand next to my ear. It’s not a cry, not a wail - just a giggle. A giggle and a grshhhhh. At any other time of day this would be funny or at least mildly amusing: my child laying awake in his crib, curled on his back attempting to communicate with his feet without any determinable vocabulary, as his toes keep slipping from his drool-handed grasp falling back down to the mattress with a thump. . . thump. . . grshhhhh. . . thump. . .[audible nonsense]. . .grshhhhh. . .thump. . .thump. . . [audible nonsense]. But at two-thirty, that fantastical moment, this is warning of a great terror. I try to roll over and continue my slumber, but I know this thumping will only lead to frustration in my developing son’s disposition which will only lead to that cough/cackle that all new parents know which is inevitably trailed by that ear-splitting howl. All of this I know will happen if I continue to sleep so I totter my way into his bedroom and touch his chest. His biggest grin is my reward, but I know better because his biggest grin can only lead to an hour-and-a-half of trying to get him to stop playing and return to sleep. I try the rocking, the bottle, the shushing, the walking, but still he smiles, laughs, grshhhhhes. Still he tries to stand in my arms and wiggle around to see what’s happening around the house. Still he grabs his toes. Still he is happy. And therein lies my curse, my critical uncertainty of up and down. My son is happy to be awake with me at two-thirty, because apparently daddy is all fun and games, but on the other hand, my son is happy to be awake with me at two-thirty.

So what is the difference here? Tell me, parents, why does my son only sleep when mom is home and never when she leaves? All exaggerating aside, Ben really does wake up at 2:30 a.m. every time she works and stays awake for the majority of the remaining night. But when Anna is home, he sleeps for anywhere between 8 and 11 hours. WTF?! What could I possible be doing wrong, and what could I possibly do to stop this [aside from getting a better-paying job so Anna wouldn’t have to work anymore]? I’m counting on you guys. . .