Yesterday I thought would be the day.
The day when I finally got this train back on its track. The day when I returned to doing regular chores and regular cooking. The day when people who needed baths would get them and bedtime would be before ten o’clock for people under the age of 11.
..I spent the day in the arm chair doing everything I could to make our very very miserable baby feel better. She gets sick like a man, man. Making everyone in the house nearly as miserable as she is. She whines. She fusses. She trashes. She cries. She makes angry/unhappy baby sounds that sound like “ayiayiayiayiayi” but really growly. She’s had little respiratory things over the past year, but nothing that her so unhappy. Nothing that’s made her so unable or so unwilling to sleep.
I wanted to tie this up with a cute happy ending. It should go without saying that I adore holding Baby Bee. That I want nothing more for her to be well and happy and as her Mommy if it means I have to hold her all day, that’s what I do. If that means staying up all night, trying to comfort her, that’s what I do. But, man, yesterday was a day where being a Mom was HARD.
I was operating on four hours of sleep, gotten after 5 a.m. when Big Daddy took over. The rest of my night was spent alternating where I tried to sleep with Baby Bee. I started in bed, moved to the couch, moved to our arm chair, back to the couch, back to the chair and collapsed into bed with her again at 5. The big girls? Not so helpful. I’m tired. My patience is so small you need a microscope to catch a glimpse of it. I yell a lot. When Baby Bee bites me in the afternoon, I burst into tears. Because, really, how much more was I expected to take?
The answer, of course, is I was going to take whatever it took, because that’s what Moms do, but that doesn’t mean that’s easy.