This past weekend was a tough one. The big one was away, and the little one was a force to be reckoned with. She tossed and turned at night, waking up multiple times in addition to the noisy thunderstorms outside, and she really tested our patience out. Mid-afternoon Saturday she unloaded her entire breakfast and lunch (bacon and Gruyere pastry and a pint of farmers’ market blackberries) onto herself, the floors, the walls. Sunday night wasn’t much better, and Monday morning rolled around and I really thought we might die of exhaustion.
Fast forward to this morning, 2:30am, when I woke with a start. For a split second I thought my body had just forgotten how to sleep through the night, but about thirty seconds later it hit me. A wave of nausea far stronger than any that I endured during either pregnancy. I never went back to sleep it was so strong. E woke up feeling the same way around six, and we proceeded to fill up the toilet and the tub with our crummy feelings, and I knew she couldn’t go to camp, but I really needed to go to work – at least to finish off something for a meeting this afternoon. My eyelids hurt to blink – you can imagine how the rest of me felt sitting at a computer.
It’s almost seven at night, and E is sleeping next to me in my bed. We both have high fevers and feel altogether miserable. The weight of my skin on my bones hurts. If I think too hard, my brain hurts. It might be a long night. But as soon as I’m feeling better I’ll make sure that I scoop that baby up and let her know I feel her pain. As parents we think we are so in tune with our children, but sleep deprivation can do tricky things to your mind, and convince you that your toddler is out to get you with their cunning ways. Last night she slept all thirteen hours without a peep, except for the ten minutes or so that she sings herself to sleep in her crib. She slept through the sickfest of her mom and sister, she slept like a baby. I’m hoping for a night like that any day now.