See, if I get off a schedule, I have the willpower and the knowledge that I can reroute myself back onto the schedule. A baby can't do that. If you put a baby on a schedule, and then put her to bed an hour later than usual, that doesn't mean she sleeps in the next morning. It means she skips her night feeding and then wakes up at least an hour earlier than usual, and is still cranky until her morning nap, which she may or may not take, because she's so tired she's absolutely delusional, going from crying to laughing back to crying, all in a split second, insisting that she MUST be held, which isn't really that easy of a task since she's grown a lot in the last four months and weighs in at about 15 pounds. You try carrying all that around, wiggling and wriggling and writhing in your arms and try to get anything done. Lack of a good night's sleep=nap strikes, which are a mother's worst nightmare.
Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything...
Some nights I go to bed and think I could sleep for a thousand years.
Some nights I go to bed covered in spit-up, drool, and my own sweat.
Some nights I go to bed and stare at the ceiling, overwhelmed by to-do lists.
Some nights I go to bed and am so glad I share it with someone who loves me.
Every night I sleep more soundly than I have my entire life.
My bed is kind of a sacred place these days. It's one of my favorite places, if I'm honest with you. Do not underestimate the value, and the power of sleep.
You don't really realize how much someone is a part of your life until they're not anymore. It not even that I'm dwelling on it, or waxing morbid in my thoughts. I'm happy, life has moved on, and I'm not saying this to be depressing or to seek pity; it's just a fact of life. This is something that never really ever goes away. I'm becoming more and more OK with that. C'est la vie, et je l'adore.
I need to read more. And more and more and more. Voraciously, late hours of the night, every spare second, new books, old books, sad books, happy books, thinking books, children's books, dumb-girly-books, classic books, well-loved books, mysteries, romances, science fiction, fantasy worlds, dystopias, historical, realistic, post-modern, Romantic with a capital "R", poets, deeper meanings, and perfect, luscious prose. Please.
I never thought I would be one of those moms that got all teary-eyed from their baby getting bigger. It's so exciting to watch a child grow and learn and steadily become more independent. It's thrilling to watch this tiny little human become her own person.
But this week I had to go through London's wardrobe and pull out all the clothes she's outgrown in the last four months. Is it silly that I maybe got a little sad as I realized that she'd never be able to wear any of these clothes again? The smiles and cuddles and sweet, quiet moments of watching her sleep in these onsies and rompers and jammies and dresses are all past, we can never relive those seconds again. That one outfit that I loved to pieces and she wore at least once a week can't even fit over her head anymore!
Today, I am swearing off to-do lists and savoring the day. I may not even get out of my pajamas. Or maybe I will, who knows? Flying by the seat of my pants. It's kind of exciting. I think I foresee cookies in my future.