What a difference a good night's sleep makes.
The biggest drama of our lives in the past year has always been sleep. Getting Ruth to sleep through the night, at its various stages, has had its triumphs and setbacks. Now that she's 13 months old, it's reaching a tenuous place; right between genuine psychological need, and the beginning stages of--dare I say it--brattyness.
Nights in which I wake up once (due to pregnancy thirst), or twice (just listening to a whimper or two) are still common. Sometimes, however, we are plagued with nights of crying, crying, and crying. We're still out on the futon in the living room most nights; it seems as though Ruth has a sixth sense for when we're in the bedroom (which is when she can persist in getting us up).
It feels cruel to leave her there. Her frantic voice still breaks my heart. But what I think I've learned is my waffling & heartsickness have probably made things more confusing and complicated for her. It's hard to push my conflicted feelings away and be consistent.
Regardless, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. As Meg counseled me last night, she won't be 13 and still waking up at night.
The coming year will be a challenge; I imagine that in the first three months after #2 comes along, I'll feel even more a zombie than I did after Ruth arrived. But at least I'm experienced at it. All I've got to do is put a few folks on speed dial for those days when I'm barely human and losing it.
Maybe I'll publish a book after all my children are grown. I'll call it Adventures in Sleep: One Bleary-Eyed Mom's Epic Story.