As a continuation of my enviable state these days, let me invite you into a night in my life...
8-9.20 pm: Crying. In my ear. WHY won't he sleep?!
9.30 pm - THANKS BE TO GOD all is well! I must reward myself with some reality television (Hey there, Real Housewives of Melbourne! You and your Australian accents will remain my dirty little secret. Dirty because that's what I am. And not in a fun way. I mean, I used to be, in a fun way. Now I'm just actually dirty. He spat up down my chest and inside my shirt. It was warm and kind of lumpy. And now it's so, sooo cold. I couldn't put him down because, shitfit, and so I just let it pool in my bra, and dry. This is why I need you, Real Housewives.) And dinner. I'm so hungry. Wait, there's only a spoonful left of the food I made yesterday. After facing the reality that I might eat my own arm by the time Seamless gets here, I'll just have peanut butter on toast.
11.00 pm - BED. Is there any feeling more wonderful than cool, freshly laundered sheets underneath my aching limbs? I do a little starfish dance to luxuriate in this pleasure before I pass out. I'm so tired. I secretly hope hubs doesn't want to "cuddle."
12.00 am - WAAAAAAAHHHHH! What. The. Fuuuuuck. Shush/pat doesn't work. He wants to nurse; off the living room we go. Shitshitshit! I forgot the nursing pillow in my toddler's room! I can't go in there! I proceed to nurse on stacked couch cushions, one hand preventing the baby from slipping off and the other holding a boob in place. I can practically feel them sagging with every suckle. Stupid stupid me!
1 am: He must have digested by now. I'll wrap him and put him back in his crib. He's asleep. I'm awesome. I hear an angel's chorus as I get back into my welcoming bed.
42 minutes later: Crying. Again! WHAT is going on? He spat up! Thank god it's not on him though. Perhaps he'll be more comfortable out of the crib. I throw him over my shoulder, and we go to fetch the Rock'n'Play. BURP! A little cottage cheese on my tee shirt; no biggie...EWwww! It's in my HAIR!!! Like a bird poo in a tangled nest! That shit'll brush right out, right? (It won't. I'm currently mustering up the energy for a shower).
When I reswaddle him I notice parts of it are wet with spit up. Whatever, I'm sure he won't even notice. Except now he's awake and gurgling at me in the dark. I can feel him staring. Ignoring him, I poke one foot out from under my duvet and rock him. Once. Because I've fallen asleep. Not to worry though because a few minutes later...
1.52 am: A door creaks. That ominous sound is my toddler's calling card. Suddenly he appears at the foot of my bed, a tiny shadow staring at me and pointing to my bed, wanting permission to sleep with us. I get up to take him back to him room. "But I eurgh lebyrch" What?? He says it louder. Nope. Whatever it is, I can assure you it's a nope. I scoop him up just as his face starts to crumble into that high-pitched, elongated wail only 3 year olds can master, and run with him back to his room. I plop him back into his bed.
Wait, why is there a wet spot on his pajama pants? It's too large to be from tears, but it's in such an odd place that it couldn't possibly be pee, could it??? Mystery wetness be damned! Let's cuddle and sleep. I tuck him in and head back to my room after a few hugs.
4.00 am: Loud lip smacking. Baby is happily chewing away at his chubby little fingers, loud enough to wake the dog up. But I got 2 solid hours of sleep! I can do this. He wants to eat.
We go.
5.00 am: Guess who's back, back again? Mommy's back, back in bed...I practically faint into a deep sleep.
6.00 am: WHY? WHY IS HE AWAKE? Why is this happening to me?! This can't be happening! He can't be hungry. I pick him up and try desperately to rock him back to sleep. IT WORKS! Hallelujah!
As I'm putting him down...the toddler comes back in. Oh. My. God.
Defeated, I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. I send him to my bed and get in. Only I can't sleep because his tiny little feet are burrowing into my butt crack. How? Why? What the hell? I'm losing my temper. Hubs wakes up and tries to cuddle him (by putting him in a headlock). Now I'm worried and can't sleep. I get up to reposition him. I fall back down and try to sleep. Andy feels my seething anger and quietly takes him to the living room.
7.00 am: Baby is awake for the day. I want to shoot myself.
Today I have subsisted on a diet of chocolate biscuits and a bottle of wine.