Monday, August 19, 2013

If you think I write too much about sleep deprivation, you're right.

I'm feeling pffffft. I haven't yet gone on any grand adventures with the girl. I had these ambitious notions of getting a bus pass, visiting the library, seeing the sites, etc. But my motivation has taken a dive. Baby's upper tooth is giving her grief. Also, she's growing like a weed. As in, fast. For every minute she is conscious she is collecting data on how to be a human being. She's taking in her surroundings, with eyes and arms as wide as a mile, with such ferocity, it's so, so, so difficult to turn it off, even when her poor, weary eyes are begging for a break. And even when she does close her eyes, behind those sweet little lids, she's practicing what she collected that day. She goes over and over it in her mind, trying to master the concept, whatever it might be. Like a bride the night before her wedding, or Christmas Eve for a ten year-old, life is at maximum volume. So just how does a baby come down from that? It's simple: she doesn't.

These are the things I try to tell myself in the light of day, when my body and head ache so much I want to cry at anything. She's trying, I say. She has so much to learn, I say. She needs time and patience, I say. But my coffers are empty. Sometimes, some days, the well is dry. Sometimes, some days, the well has been dry for a while, and I'm still miles out from the promised land.

Yesterday I lost my cool. I hate when I do that. She couldn't sleep, so she cried instead. I pretend it doesn't bother me, as if I have to prove something to myself. Laundry to do, and I really want to eat something,  I reach for the Ibuprofen, I burn my fingers on the microwaved leftovers. Storm. Slam. Walk out. Sit and stew on the step. Forgot the key back into the room. Figures. Walk back with my head low. Stupid antics. I knock and husband answers. I hate when I lose it in front of him. It's not that he judges. He worries. I'm trying to hold my own here. I just need sleep. And clean laundry and a full stomach. Then I notice it. The room is quiet. "Is she asleep?' I ask wide-eyed. He nods, yes. And then we hug. A little down time, a little food, and a phone call to the Virginia Academy of Massage for an appointment next weekend. The vessel is not full, I'd say, but it's definitely enough.

So I rally. I stick to the routine, I stay the course, and I remain the constant in her expanding, high-speed world. She'll find her balance again. Sleep is something she had learned before, but she lost the file when making room for all this new stuff. Please, baby girl, find it again soon, it's in there somewhere. Mama wants to take you to the library and see the sites. But clearly, you have enough on your plate as it is.


Kam said...

Mary, dear,
This post reminded me all too well of what's to come... At 17 weeks preg and counting, oh those newborn days sure sound exhausting! Hope you're holding up and keeping your cool!