I forgot how hard this was. Even when you know it could be worse? It's still hard. Take a look at this picture from Christmas. Do you see what those eyes and those dark circles underneath are saying? They're saying I AM SOOOOOO TIIIIIIIIIREDDDDD.
Okay, so it's not like I'm wandering around my house at all hours of the night with a screamy fussy baby. I actually, um, don't even really get out of bed at all. Around midnightish I sort of stretch my whole self across the two or three feet between my bed and Emma's, pluck her out of the minicrib, and stick her in bed next to me. It's really astonishing the ways I can contort my body when motivated by laziness. Then I feed her with both of us lying down - a trick I learned during my tenure with Baby Molly. This is the BEST, you guys. This is ADVANCED laziness.
So I'm not really getting up in the middle of the night. I'm half asleep while I feed the baby. And now that she's no longer insta-gassy and miserable after every feeding, she goes right back to sleep after she eats. In keeping with the lazy theme, I leave her there and we snuggle until the next feeding. It's quite nice! It could be SO much worse. I know this. AND YET!
Emma's longest stretch of sleep is about four hours and it happens during the first part of the night, usually when Phillip and I are still up and zombied-out in front of the television. I know I should go to bed earlier, but this is my alone time! I need my alone time! So I don't go to bed early AT ALL and I'm often still up when Emma has her first wake up. (Though this is SO inconsistent it's pointless to even describe it. Not that that will stop me.) Anyway, after that, she's up every two hours to eat. Every! two! hours! SOB!
And even though it's easy, even though she almost always goes right back to sleep, I am so tired. But that's not the worst part.
The worst part is during the day, when Emma is clearly crazy tired, falls asleep in my arms, I put her down in the crib, walk away, fifteen minutes later BAM! She's awake. So I pick her up, wedge the pacifier back in, hold her tight, bounce around or walk or rock or whatever seems like the right thing to do, watch her fall asleep in my arms, put her down in the crib, walk away, fifteen minutes later YOU GET THE PICTURE. I don't know how many times a day I have to re-nap this kid. Seven? Eight? Fifteen? ONE THOUSAND?
And that's tiring because I just need an hour. One measly little hour that's all mine. No preschoolers, no baby, no errands, no obligations. One stupid hour to sit on my couch and scroll through Twitter or browse crib bedding on Amazon or eat all the cookies. And it's SO HORRIBLE when I do not get that hour. My big kids were having their respective quiet times today and fell asleep which hardly EVER happens! But I was up and down with Emma for at least two hours this afternoon, maybe three, I lost track after the forty-seventh re-nap. She finally fell and stayed asleep - right when the big kids woke up, of course.
I forgot how hard it was, but one nice thing about a third kid is that I know it's not me. There's not really anything I can do about it. All the parenting books in the world aren't going to change the fact that she's a BABY, right? UNFORTCH.