The night started out relatively rough, but we got through it with some ibuprofen and some rocking and some giving in. We set up the cosleeper for Emmeline in hopes that she would sleep in there like she does at her daycare. Not that I don’t want her near me, but my back can’t take sleeping with a toddler any longer. Then a typical Iowa thunderstorm hit sometime in the middle of the night complete with booming thunder. Which brought my son into the bedroom to nest on the floor.
I should have known this would be the beginning of my peaceful morning’s demise.
I woke up at 5:30 more or less, to my husband’s expletive after stepping in dog vomit. Which was directly in his walking path. On the carpet (of course.) So I sneaked out of bed and into the bathroom and thought to myself “I might as well just get up because I won’t be able to sleep.”
Shortly thereafter, she woke.
Since 5:30 this morning.
Emme is sleeping, I sneak out for some coffee…realize my husband only ground enough for him.
I unplug the grinder and take it to the front porch, close the door, I grind enough for two cups. Come inside, free pour my coffee. I hear her crying.
My son wakes up, wants up on the bed. Sure. Fine. Great. Another breathing body, maybe she’ll stay asleep. I lay down, stick my boob in her mouth, she falls back to sleep. I slowly removing myself (hoping. praying.) that having Brighton next to her will keep her content and she’ll stay sleeping. Again, I sneak back out of the bedroom in search of my newly poured cup of hot coffee and I turn the computer on.
She’s awake. And crying. Again.
Is she feverish? No not really. Is she teething? Yes probably. I give her hylands teething gel and tyelnol. I decide I should rock her. She falls asleep. I can tell she’s tired. She of course, wants to nurse. So I let her nurse. She falls asleep (sort of). I lay her back into bed. Walk out into the hallway, she’s awake again. Crying.
Ok now it’s time for the baby wearing apparatus. I go out to the car and retrieve the mei tai. Emme sees it and calms down (good sign). I put her in. Happy. OK cool. I can deal with this. -DEEP BREATH- I walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. Thinking (like a fool) “OK. Now maybe if I rock and type and drink my coffee while I’m wearing her she’ll be OK.”
Nope. I sit, she freaks out. I stand up and walk she’s fine.
-EXPLETIVE! EXPLETIVE! EXPLETIVE!! –
I’ll try the ring sling. She can nurse in the ring sling. Probably. Maybe. Spend about 10 minutes trying to figure the expletive thing out again, finally get it (sort of) figured out, put her in, reach down to the depths of my t-shirt to find my boob and stick it in her mouth. She’s kind of content. OK good. . Then apparently she gets uncomfortable, starts to fidget. I know where this is headed. Down the expletive road. Yep there it is. Crying, screaming, freaking out.
-WHAT THE EXPLETIVE!!! EXPLETIVE OF ALL THINGS EXPLETIVE!!!!!-
I’m giving up. I can feel the strength and compassion draining slowly from my body. I am either going to scream (which will be heard all over my small town) or go drown myself in the toilet (probably not the way I want to go) or just go lay her back down and see what happens. The latter is the most terrifying…I can feel the fear bubbling inside my stomach like I just jumped off a 30 story building….
Omg could it really be?
And my once hot steaming coffee, is sitting next to me, untouched, cold, abandoned.
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