I got home from campus last night to find a happy little sprite and Daddy in a good mood. We shared a few giggles and snuggles and then decided it was bedtime.
And then the night turned into an absolute pile of dogshit.
Any thoughts I had ever entertained about possibly having another baby after the one currently cooking is done have permanently left my mind. Omg. If my uterus weren’t presently occupied, I probably would have searched the internet for a home hysterectomy kit.
For some unknown reason, my usually easy going, delightful little monster turned into a giant pain in the ass. We’ll call this alter ego the Mommyhater. We did the usual routine. There was the minimal fussy protest about being put to bed that usually lasts about ten minutes. Sometimes she throws all of her stuffed animal companions out of her crib if she’s feeling especially saucy, but then gives in because she’s tired.
Well. After the regular 10 minutes all was quiet. I was enjoying my sandwich. Then she started screaming. So here’s where I made the first mistake. I went right in. Never never never do this. It was a mommy-should-stay-in-my-room-forever plea, and I fell right for it. Fuck.
So over the next two hours, I rocked her. I changed her diaper. I yelled at her (which always works, by the way….except every single time it doesn’t). I gave her another bottle. I tried lying in the big-girl bed with her. I yelled at Daddy and made him try, just so he could share my misery. Just to get back at him for depositing his sperm and making the baby to begin with. I tried lying in my bed with her.
Nothing. She hates me, I thought. She will torture her already sleep deprived Mommy into staying up half the night again, and I will die from exhaustion and bitchiness the next day.
So then, at 11:00, I thought. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna miss Grey’s Anatomy over this bullshit.” I put her back in her crib and walked away. Thank you for saving my life, ABC medical drama. And you know what? She finally went to sleep.
I don’t usually have a problem with letting a baby cry it out. We usually do this….but this one is crafty. You have to know how much time to let go by, and judge how escalated the crying is, because she’ll time is just right and puke all over the place. And I hate doing laundry at 11:00pm.
So Daddy thinks that the Mommyhater is ready to have her nap taken out of the routine during the day so that she can sleep easier at night. I sorta suspect that he is right, but Mommy isn’t ready to give up her 2 hours of freedom in the afternoon yet. Could this be? At 18 months, is she ready to go napless? God help me. I was counting on that nap until her first day of kindergarten. Without that nap, we will all be wearing day old underwear and eating takeout every night.
We were never going to have any kids. And then in a moment of weakness, I let the affection I have for one of my students cloud my judgement. I needed to have a baby. And now, with one on the outside and one on the inside, I think back to my relaxing evenings of gin martinis and dinners out, and wonder why would I give that up? Life was so easy.
And then I look into the giant, pure, Cindy Lou Who eyes that belong to the Mommyhater.
And I know exactly why.