I’m sitting on our bed, two hours after we put Baby to bed for the first time tonight. We had such a busy day today with friends and family over on and off all day. It was lovely and wonderful, but I am now feeling that drained kind of quiet tired that comes from eating lots of food and talking too much and looking around your messy (lived in?) house and feeling your heavy limbs and just not caring about anything but the couch. All I wanted to do tonight was zone out in front of Bondi Rescue or some other monstrous television show and eat my ice magic (naughty), but alas. Baby is still awake. Again! I don’t know what is up. I just can’t figure it out. It’s so out of character for her. She spent last night from 2am in our bed, waking up and tossing around. Crying out little whines in her sleep.
We’re all tired.
So we have both taken turns at coming in here to comfort and soothe her heartbreaking sobs with little made up songs and cuddles.
She held onto the bars of her cot and squished her face up against the bars and sobbed. She rolled around on the mattress and cried. She sniffled and squealed and snotted. She yowled and screamed and banged. She head-butted me for the second time in the last 24 hours. It hurt. Remind me of that thing called patience? I think I’m all out.
I’ve breastfed her twice, we’ve given her a drink of water, we’ve changed her nappy. We’ve paced up and down the room with her in our arms. We ate dinner in shifts and mine was cold.
After all our efforts over two hours, I brought the computer in here five minutes ago and have just been sitting on the bed. Not doing or saying anything, just being present in the room.
I peek over the rim now. She’s asleep.
Could we not have figured this out at 6.30pm tonight?