What a wonderful father of my child I have. Last night we had a little upset in the sleep cycle. In the middle of the night (4am) I tried to change my son's diaper while I was still half asleep. I think somewhere along the way I must have made a mistake. Because he got more and more upset and then eventually started howling at the top of his lungs. Maybe I was doing it backwards, maybe I stuck him with the Snappi fastener, maybe he still had to go pee and was angry that I didn't recognize his discomfort. But why make the reason so complicated? I probably was just taking too damn long and he got annoyed. So, the crying woke up the husband. And truthfully, this time, I was apathetic. My husband works hard~ every day. He works hard so that I can stay at home with the baby. (As most of you know, it's cheaper than daycare.) (Hey, wait a minute! If it's cheaper than daycare, why aren't all the stay-at-home-moms getting paid what daycare workers get paid. At least half! I suppose that's another angry blog from another angry mom.) Anyway, often times my wonderful husband will work 13 hour days times six days a week. And because he's self-employed, he doesn't get such benefits as overtime, health benefits, or even a company vacation. In other words, he works six days a week so that I can stay home. And I appreciate him. But this morning, at 4 am, I was not feeling sorry for him that the baby woke him up. Nope, not even an ounce of remorse. Yes, horrible wife. Say it.
So, my lovely husband got out of bed, stood naked in the kitchen and asked what he could do to help. Isn't that sweet? He didn't even take the time to put a bathrobe on. My answer was: Just hold him. I had had it. I was EXHAUSTED from the previous night and quite honestly I don't think I've slept for more than 5 hours in the last two weeks. And let's not kid ourselves~ I'm not even talking 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Now, I don't want to make my case sound too tragic. I do on occasion get a lengthy 1.5 hour nap in the middle of the afternoon. So, as my husband is racking his brain trying to find out why his son is wailing at 4am, I get myself a drink of water. It occurred to me that I should recognize the parched, dry desert called "my throat". Somewhere in my foggy brain I remember some stupid advice about remembering to take care of myself. Yada yada yada. "You can't take care of your child unless you take care of yourself." Whoever said that did not have a child to take care of. Was it the advice I was remembering or was it the simple fact that I had no saliva in my mouth to form words? Oh, that reminds me. Before I got into bed last night, I put lotion on my hands for the first time in 3 MONTHS!!!!! This is not an over-exaggeration. I looked at my hands and saw lines and cracks so deep it reminded me of large raisins, with fingers. I told my husband, "I've seen myself age more in these last five months than I have in the last decade."
I digress. So, here's the hubby thinking, is he teething, does he have a fever, did he get a sunburn today at the pool, did his UTI come back, did he have a nightmare, did he get struck by lightening, did the bed sheets come alive and try to swallow him? "No." I said, "I think I just took too long to change his diaper." After I regained composure, I took him back in my arms and he fell asleep. We rocked in our rocking chair, with husband rocking in sync with me on the ottoman. A chair that I have sat in many times. When he was first born, I remember spending as much as 10 hours in that chair thru out the day. Let's talk about mind-numbing experiences.
So, the family goes back to sleep~ it's after 5am. But all too soon, it's 7am. The boy stirs and we're at it again. He clearly has to go potty. He regularly goes poop around 7am. (Remember what it was like to be "regular"?) With my eyes still closed, I stick him on his potty and lo and behold, he goes. I use my other senses to notify me of when he has gone. (The audio signal is quite loud.) I force my eyes open with pitch forks, but his eyes are wide open and he starts his morning singing routine so I know that there's no chance to get him to go back to sleep. I, on the other hand, NEED at least another 30 minutes to function properly today. This time WITH remorse, I wake up my hubby and tell him to take over. The idea of starting my day already is unfathomable. This is my reasoning: today is my husband's day off. If I can get him to let me sleep now, then I'll be good to go for another week of insufficient sleep. And even though I like to let my husband have a real "day off" on his scheduled day off (ie. sleep in), this new plan will really be the best for the entire family. I'm unclear as to whether he sees this plan as good or just agrees to it out of fear, but he does wake up. As quickly as I know that Daddy is awake enough to comprehend his duties, I am asleep. Unconscious before any protests are heard.
I am allowed to sleep until 9:30am! I awake to the sound of the boy crying, but also greeted with the happy sight of Daddy thawing out the breastmilk from the freezer to give Mommy just a few more minutes of solitude! It's true. My husband is a saint, my boy is still alive, and I can take just a few moments to scrape away the crust from my eyes, the breast milk that leaked, and the baby slobber on my shoulder.
No comments:
Post a Comment