The Day Everything Went Wrong

Here's another installment in my genuine motherhood line of blogs. Today? Not especially great.

Dinner last night was delayed so I didn't go to bed until after 11:00PM. Jude decided we had to wake up at 2:00AM. He has yet to so much as take a nap, meaning I have not so much as taken a nap. That's 15 hours and counting after less than 3 hours of sleep. Holding him the entire time because he'll have it no other way.

Shortly after 2:00AM I spend an hour standing with him in the bathroom with the fan on hoping the white noise will put him to sleep again, to no avail.

I go into the living room and spend half an hour standing and rocking him near his swing with the white noise turned on. He finally doses off so I put him down all nestled and warm... where he proceeds to sneeze and wake himself up.

I pick him back up and start from scratch. Same method. An hour later, standing all the while, he's out. I put him down, he pees. Awake again!

I go change him then we try laying down together. Nope. So I try rocking some more and when he seems destined for sleep I put him down. He protests. I try walking away for a few minutes, because sometimes that works. Sometimes Mommy is just too distracting so close by. Not this time! I give up and we watch Netflix forever.

At 8:00AM, as I am eating breakfast with Jude in my lap playing with a toy, he explodes into poop. It gets everywhere. I don't even know how. It's on me, it's on him, it's on the furniture, it's on the carpet, it's on our clothing, and the boppy. Front, back, top bottom, you name it -- there is poop. I need to clean all of this up before it ruins the house and bathe the baby, and Aaron is asleep.

This isn't even a picture from this incident.
This just happens so frequently I have another pic of it.

Anyone who knows Aaron is aware he sleeps like the gd dead. It goes without saying my attempts to rouse him are ineffective. So I clean the baby up with wipes best I can, wrap him up naked in a towel (in case he's not finished), plop him on the changing pad on the floor, and leave him there crying while I tend this shit. No pun intended.

Then the cats are hungry, yelling at me and getting underfoot. Making matters even worse. At two points they almost wind up in poop, exacerbating the problem. Thankfully at like the halfway mark Aaron emerges to tend Jude. I say thankfully because honestly the baby's crying causes me physical discomfort and I'm at the point where I might die or something. He's dressed him, unknowing the need for a bath, so I decide to just postpone it. Aaron also feeds the cats.

He then goes back to bed but Jude isn't done being awake yet. So I have to stay up. I spend an hour and a half nursing and rocking Jude to sleep. Then right as I put him down some asshole neighborhood kid starts throwing his basketball at the staircase. Why? I DON'T KNOW. He does it at least once a week, for no reason whatsoever. Bouncing a basketball at a staircase cannot possibly be entertaining. Go find a fucking court, you little teenage douche bag. The obnoxiously loud sound this produces immediately wakes Jude up. All my hard work for nothing now. I almost go out on the balcony to scream at the kid but realize as I am about to open the door that I am not wearing a shirt. Fuuuuu.

It's well after noon before I get to finish my oatmeal. Cold and dry. Time passes with more cuddling and standing and walking and rocking all without payoff. Jude is so sleepy but unwilling to sleep that he doesn't even want to talk or play anymore. He just wants to nurse, complain about nursing, complain about being awake, dose off, wake up to complain about dosing off, then nurse some more. All while rocking and only while standing.

My neck, back, and legs are killing me by 3:00PM. As they should, I've been standing with 10 pounds of little human in my arms for more than 12 hours straight.

Aaron gets up and we have lunch. Then he baths Jude while I go to throw baby clothes into the wash, only to realize after loading the machine that it's broken. Meaning I have to remove everything and load it all into another machine. All the while trying to hurry so that I can get back to He Who Does Not Sleep. Since the washers are lined up side-by-side, this means I only bang my funnybone like two thousand times.

And did I mention that I am still sick? Ugh. I hope he falls asleep soon. I am so far beyond exhausted. I love my life and all but really, when the crap hits the fan does it have to be by the gallon? Days like this certainly serve their purpose -- to make sure I never take good days for granted, but in the words of Dean Winchester, c'mon!