Wednesday September 21, 2011

Alright.  I've got bigger rings around my eyes than the Real Housewives of New York have around their fingers.  I am beyond tired. Like, so being tired it doesn't feel like tired anymore.   I have taken her temperature more times than I can count.  No fever.  Stuck my fingers in her screaming mouth to check for bumps and look for any signs of white gums.  Nothing doing.  I've taken foods out of her diet.  No change. She is not pulling on her ears as a sign of an infection.  Her snot is clear.  Too much information? This is the wrong blog for you to be reading, then.

She refuses to sleep.  Downright refuses.  In fact, in some instances, I would go so far as to say that she's mocking my attempts to soothe her.  Her eyelids will flutter, only to snap open again as soon as I make the ascent to her crib to lay her down.  She will not sleep longer than an hour unswaddled.  She fights and kicks and screams to get out of the swaddle.  Then, she will giggle as if nothing had ever happened and she doesn't understand why Mama is counting to ten and taking slow breaths.

Rich and I have been terse and short.  That's about all we can manage over the exhaustion.  We are slightly- okay- very possessive over our quality time together.  We love our daughter, but she needs to go to bed so that we can ask each other how our days were and have the strength to actually care about the answer.

When I was pregnant, the experience was so horrific, I had glamorized the infancy stage.  Let me be the first to tell you, I, in all seriousness, wake up nearly every day thanking God that I am not swollen, sore and puking my guts out. Really.  I do.   Most days, being a Mom to a little baby girl lives right up there with my fantasy of reading Madeline together, taking walks, having complete strangers in Whole Foods tell me how beautiful my child is, baking and laughing and singing and playing together.  But there are some days, or weeks, where it's just not what I thought it was going to be at all.  I'm not going to feel badly about that, it just is what it is.

I love my little trouble maker.  I would also like to sleep.  For longer than 20 minutes.  Please God.