Last night was another rough one, Shana sleeping with Mack on her chest on the couch from 1AM to 5AM, unwilling to go through the difficult late night rhythm of trying to put Mack on his back in the co-sleeper, followed by shrieking / spiting up / shrieking / changing his poop / shrieking / comforting etc.
If we thought a night nurse would provide the tips necessary to find peace in this hurricane of parenthood, we were delusional. Again. (We made the same mistake with Nate). In some ways, the baby nurse's suggestions have exacerbated the situation, as if the Red Cross, in attempting to help the poor folks of Haiti, introduced onto the island a new strain of small pox.
The night nurse's tips are focused on making sure Mack nurses enough to sleep for long stretches, as well as changing and swaddling him relentlessly. To accomplish this, we'd need to wake him up if he passed out after 10 minutes of nursing (to feed him more) and top off as needed with formula. We'd also need to swaddle him and comfort him and stretch him out as long as possible so as to avoid feeding him on demand.
Since I'm not home most of the day during the week, I'm more ready to commit to the night nurse's advice in the evenings. This often involves pushing into a hail storm of crying and screaming. Shana, who's with Mack all day, is (understandably) less interested in applying the baby nurse's advise. It's therefore hard to know what to do when Mack's screaming only after 40 minutes -- after taking 3 ounces of bottle. Do we try and comfort and put him back to the co-sleeper in a swaddle, or quiet him on the couch and let him fall asleep on our chest? Shana and I butted heads on just this point last night. Fried and exhausted, neither of us have the head to know whether to lead or follow either. We end up in different rooms with different boys in a tight-faced, man-to-man defense. We ate dinner alone.
The night nurse returns tonight, so that's good. Seriously.