Toddlers are Terrorists

Sometimes it feels as though having a toddler is the same thing as being held hostage by a terrorist. I say this after almost two months of having not a single night of solid sleep. Each night seeming worse than the last, I have grown accustomed (though not fond) of piecing an hour here, three there (if I'm lucky)...with the end result totaling around maybe four hours of sleep per night. Not exactly an optimum situation.

The problem: I am being awakened every night by my child. My toddler. A two year old. A terrorist. And, though I have tried all methods of parenting possible (punishment, bribery, forced understanding, forced patience, only to resume begging, pleading and yelling), nothing seems to work. More than being at a total loss of solutions, I am slowly fading away into the worst possible thing - a person who is giving up. On everything. I no longer believe I will ever sleep again; and, in turn, I no longer believe I will ever be the kind of mother I want to be. So, how can I escape from this reign of terror?

After having asked mothers who have experienced similar things and have made it out to the "other side," I have been given insights and hope that the situation will find its natural end. My only problem is knowing when the end will be near. I, as of yet, haven't seen the slightest signs of any alleviation. So, I sit beside myself in melancholy, wishing for a liberation.

But, what if it doesn't come in time? My fear of all fears, I worry that I will devolve more quickly than Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" - believe me, some nights (like tonight, in particular), it's not that far of a leap. After all, I am not the most patient person in the world. I don't dangle my dreams on the notions of things working out on their own. I have always been the type to make my own destiny. If something doesn't work out, I chalk it up to personal failure...but, in the end, whatever I have achieved has been because of the fact that I have gone out and made it happen. I have never allowed things to take a so-called "natural course." So, with that said, this is the most challenging of all efforts.

The thing about life, I suppose, is that sometimes there are no answers. None apparent, anyway. Being a parent doesn't make me more wise or patient or accepting of the fact that "my way" is no longer the path of my life. It more just makes me yearn for the days of ease, before taxes and stretch marks and life with a toddler who displays no remorse for bad deeds. It makes me miss the simplicity of single life and the ease of childhood. It creates much more of a sense of gratitude for my parents, who I am certain had their share of dilemmas with me. And, it makes me wish I were the type of person who could better handle things that don't go her way. But, I'm not that person.

I no longer have the life of my past. All I have is this moment in time, when the crying child has finally fallen asleep, when it will soon be time for the household to rise and another day will pass with my glazed-over sleep-deprived eyes having discovered that hope does not lie on the horizon. It only lies in the past. If I can make it out of this slump alive, I will cherish the fact that I found enough inner-strength necessary to survive this time. But, only if I can find such strength. And, until I see such a day, I will continue to disbelieve its existence.