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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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!