After the Hellmageddon of my kid's first year where my kid was like "fuck you, sleep" and I was like "I don’t like your attitude," we made it to the Holy Land of 12 months old where she slept through the night consistently, and I started to feel like a real girl again.
After stretches of 7-8 hours sleep, my brain was clicking and clacking on proper routes again; I was seeing the world through eyes that didn’t burn and sting for being open for 7863 straight hours, walking with correct posture, and not shooting hateful eye lasers at bachelor friends who were yawning because they "slept too much last night."
(Much has been said about this first year of life and lack of sleep and I understand that if you don’t have kids, you’d be WHINE MORE ABOUT IT. But the thing is, the sleep deprivation is something so wholly surreal that you cannot prepare for it. You can rub your warm extended stomach and nod politely as other Moms tell their stories. You can bookmark articles about sleep training. You can get up 3 times a night to pee and think "man, this sucks but at least it’s good training for what’s about to happen" and it’s just NOT. Every child should have a temporary name of Guantanamo Bay(by). The first few days are a shocking walking nightmare of a life you knew for 30ish years but with more barf, shit and tears. And those are mostly your own. It’s so hard you cry and cry and cry and think "I’m the worst. I can’t do this. Why didn’t I listen? Will the Babadook just come kill me already? Will my vagina ever feel like it’s not being gnawed on by stoned beavers?"
So that's why I will continue to reference it here and there and everywhere.)
Teeth came in – we survived. Beds were adjusted – we survived. Nightmares were had – we survived. She is now five years old and other than a few nights a month when her legs cramp due to growing pains (the way she sells it to get a leg rub she better be Kareem Abdul Jabbar height come 17), she still is a kick-ass sleeper and I love her 45% more because of that.
The only minor hiccup in this great life of ours is the bedtime routine. I have to gear up mentally for it. It used to be a lullaby (a mashup of old songs, TV jingles and Beastie Boys lyrics), then we segued to some "light" reading (Pages 1-2 of books about characters on TV shows I couldn’t care less about and thus were read liberally aka many lines skipped), and now we’re back to music. Her current love, Hello by Adele, is my fault. I have a hardcore dislike for ballads which I know is ridiculous so I thought I could fix that genetic flaw by introducing Stella to the finest voice in balladry right now (and a mighty fine woman all around.)
She lays atop her covers and pillows, holds my iPad like a grail and watches Adele belt out sepia-tinged regrets for 6:07. I slip out of the room to pee in the adjacent bathroom then inevitably lip-sync the big parts into the bathroom mirror until it’s over.
The "agreement" is when the song is over, I can give her one kiss and one hug then leave. I could sue her lying lie hole because that sweet embrace inevitably turns into a master class of stalling and redirection. "Mommy, can I tell you something?" Or 756 questions about "why did she break his heart?" "where’s the other side?" "can I have long nails too?" "why are there blankies everywhere in the house?" and I yell-whisper as I walk backwards towards the door "BECAUSE SHE’S SO TIRED AND NEEDS TO GO TO SLEEP JUST LIKE YOU, GOODNIGHTBYELOVEYOUSEEYOUINTHESCHMORNING."
Yes, it's important that she get a good night's sleep. Yes, it's important that I don't fall prey to her charming wiles and bedtime stays in my control. But it's mostly important for me to GET BACK TO MY NETFLIX & CHILL, Stella. I don’t care what the young people skew that expression as. I use it as God intended – to take up the whole couch with my whole flopped body, balancing a Netflix branded popcorn bowl on my expanding Mom gut, one hand on the remote and one hand spooning green ambrosia out of the bowl into my Cool-whip flecked gaping mouth. That’s the chill-est I get.
These are the shows I chilled with all month long.
John Mulaney: The Comeback Kid
Funny, sharp and (not common with comedy specials) gorgeously framed and shot.
Banksy Does New York
You may not like the art but you have to admire the grind. The dude knows what he's doing.
Master of None
Smart, sincere and very very funny.
W/ Bob & David
I haven't finished Mr. Show (I KNOW) but they're back with new stuff so I'll just laugh here first.
Anthony Jeselnik: Thoughts and Prayers
NOT for the delicate muffins in the world - offside humour that is so terrible it's funny.
And just when I was like, oh no, I only have 8987484 shows left to watch, I got an email that season 3 of Hannibal had just been released.
Sorry Stella, bedtime is now one hour earlier.
As a member of Netflix Canada's #streamteam I will be giving you the straight goods on what I'm watching each month in exchange for a yearly membership. It's a match made in heaven, really.