Please just stay the F#$% asleep!
Apparently, the baby enjoys being around Omniturnal Mom. He hasn't slept consistently well in quite some time. The following has, unfortunately, been a typical day around here lately.
The baby is up for the second time in an hour. She nurses him and puts him back down, sighing heavily and cursing internally. She rolls up a towel and shoves it up against the door so she can't hear him hem and haw in his crib.
Mommy drifts back off to sleep.
Mommy is jarred awake by the sounds of muffled crying. She feels a bit guilty for a split second that she shoved a towel under the door. It's not like she's ever been comfortable completely ignoring a crying child in the middle of the night. Why the heck does she even go through this charade, pretending that this will be the night she lets him scream his little head off? She knows deep down that she won't. And she kind of hates herself for that.
She's now doing something she hasn't done in about two months. She's cursing. Out loud and trying to pretend she's not cursing at the baby. You know, just cursing. At the ceiling, where God lives. Yeah, that's it.
On the inside, she's thinking: Why won't this mother fuck stay asleep? What a little asshole. Did I inadvertently give him Diet Coke or something? Seems possible given how exhausted mommy is these days.
She changes his diaper. Tells him that he must MUST go back to sleep. Dear God in heaven, just stay the fuck asleep, she whimpers. Mommy doesn't seem to have trouble putting babies to bed, just getting them to stay that way is a major problem. She doesn't really need the "Go the Fuck to Sleep" book. She needs to write the "Stay the Fuck Asleep" book.
A dose of, um, medication at 1 a.m. and he's back in his crib.
3:45 a.m. Fiona cries. "My bed is wet."
She is refusing to wear pull ups but has wet the bed two nights in a row. Mommy is out of fresh sheets for her bed, so she just sets up the child's sleeping bag on the floor.
5:45 a.m. The baby is wide awake. After sleeping almost five hours. WTF? Mommy thinks. Apparently, Benadryl isn't working these days. She tries to soothe him back to sleep. He goes down for another hour.
6:45 a.m. Mommy is in the kitchen. She hates being in the kitchen before 7 a.m. It just feels cold and weird.
8:00 a.m. The older two have trickled downstairs, dressed, ready to play, eat and fight. They have a new toy to fight over today, too. A new-to-us train table picked up for free from a neighbor. Danny is already squawking at the younger two.
8:15 a.m. Mommy is ready to get them out of the house. She's plotting a Sam's Club run.
10:30 a.m. Home from Sam's Club. Now what? Play dough, fighting over trains, sweeping the floors incessantly. Too hot to go outside.
Hm? she thinks. Is it too early to start lunch?