April 27, 2007

I wrote down the events of one week, when the kids were little so that I would never forget,. Even in my sleep deprived depression, I knew this too, would pass and one day it would be precious. I will share that with you right now.

At this point I had a 4 year old two 2 year olds and a seven month old.

My baby didn’t sleep last night, or the night before or the one before that. What you have here is a dead woman typing… 4 nights without a full restful sleep and I am beyond cranky and possibly a tad crazy, this has been a week for the books.
Monday night started off nice, all the kids were down by 8pm I was in bed by 10:30; Annabelle woke up around 1am and decided it was time to play she finally fell back to sleep around 3:00. Carly Jo woke up at 4am; she had wet the bed, so I got up, changed her clothes and then let her stay in my bed. Then it became a fight between her and the cat as to who was going to claim that spot on the bed. Everyone else woke up at 5:30.

Tuesday it rained all day and it was so hard to keep my eyes open; it would have been a perfect day for cuddling on the couch with a warm blanket and the windows open sipping a cup of hot tea while reading a book…Sorry I was dozing off…What was I saying? Oh yeah, Wednesday I was optimistic and desperate; I needed sleep and I just knew tonight was the night…until my husband tried to sneak into the room at 2am. Now this is something that happens frequently, the house is a crazy place so when he wants to get some hard core coding in he has to stay up late and work while the house is still. This night however, while he was navigating the bedroom floor in the pitch black of night he fails to realize the dog is sleeping in the middle of the floor. Husband 255 lbs; dog 65 lbs; staying asleep through that: Priceless. It would’ve been, but it didn’t happen. Jim fell, yelling obscenities knee first into the bed; Taggert yelped as the weight of Jim almost crushed her. It wasn’t until that moment, as I sat up in sheer fright, that I realized it is 2am and the baby was actually sleeping, well, WAS actually sleeping. I can’t help but think that is the difference between moms and dads. Come hell or high water, a mom would have suffered in silence; a mom would have NOT woken the baby. Maybe not, but my superiority complex makes me think it.

Thursday Jim’s knee was the size of a golf ball and I was in nurse mode: 20 minutes on 20 minutes off with the frozen peas. (The vasectomy taught us that peas are better than an icepack ANY DAY) Sweet McKenna convinced daddy that a Strawberry Shortcake Band-Aid "will make it all better" and gave him a wink for good measure. He stayed on the couch with his leg elevated for the day and worked on the laptop. He is fine, bruised but it could have been much worse. It turns out, the band-aid did work. All day long I fantasized about my pillow and the flannel sheets on my bed.

I fed the girls oatmeal for dinner because it is good for them and I was too tired to eat so it is an easy solution. I was on the floor playing with Annabelle, telling her the value of a good night’s sleep, when she informed me that she didn't care for the apricots I fed her for dinner. What that means is she puked all over me, all over her, all over the blanket, all over - EVERYTHING. Ahhh that was so nice and smelled great too; thanks for that.

Now it is Friday,  and I am in a zombie state. What am I going to do? Annabelle was awake last night again. My sister-in-law tells me that I need to just let her cry it out and learn to put herself back to sleep; this is my fifth child and the first time I have had to deal with a non-sleeper, so I feel like a newbie all over again. She says she might scream for an hour before she falls back to sleep. She said it should only take a couple nights till it will learn to just go back to sleep. That, I am sure, would break my heart; but maybe I will try it tonight.

So this morning, after my third cup of coffee, I stumble down the stairs to put my wash in the dryer. When I turn the dryer on I hear what sounds like a shoe banging around inside; I have been known to wash random objects. When I open the dryer I find that no, I didn’t put a shoe in the dryer. Carly Jo, my great helper, had pooped in her pants; and instead of telling me and letting me handle it, she walked downstairs and put the panties, poop and all, in the dryer. Am I angry? No, I am tired, and when Carly Jo looks at me and said, “I hepd too.” (I helped you) She is so proud. I have to smile and tell her thank you for helping, but she needs to tell me next time she has an accident. I can, be mad when, later in the day, she opens her sippy cup and pours milk all over the playroom floor so she can make footprints.