Dear Gods Of Sleeping Babies,
I'm really mad at you right now. Were I less exhausted, I would find more eloquent words to express my rage, but thanks to you, I am simply mad. Really, really mad.
The first 12 weeks were hell and I, along with every other woman crazy enough to have a child, accept this odd hazing ritual that impairs our judgment at the time we have another's life in our hands. Our husbands and partners are another story, but we dutifully muddle through those 12 weeks and oftentimes laugh at the sick sense of humor you exercise at 3am.
After that, though, we expect life to gracefully slip back into a pattern. A pattern that is certainly more chaotic than it was 13 weeks prior, but much less sleep deprived than the rolling average of the most recent 12.
This go-round, my baby slept though the night right at the magic 12 week mark. I sang your praises. I sacrificed caffeine and nursing pads at your altar. I saw my friends with two-week-old babies and thanked God (you) that we were beyond that. I thanked you profusely for gettin' after it without the arduous training I'd implemented with my first son but with the same results.
And then, you wily Gods, at 14 weeks, you sneezed, or laughed, or guffawed and threw me back into a pit of chaos.
My 17 pound, 4 1/2 month old baby does not sleep through the night. With three wake-up calls each night, I'd suffice it to say he's not even trying.
I am so tired, I'm not tired. Or, I think I'm not tired until I try to form a sentence at work and all the words come out, but in the wrong order. Or until someone asks how the baby is and I feel my eyes widen and my mouth take the shape of The Joker's and hear an uncannily high voice say, "Oh he's good. But he doesn't sleep." I scare people.
My husband and I have discovered that we are not incredibly kind to each other at 4am when he is crying for the third time. Someone gets kicked and gruffly told to get up.
So dearest of Gods, in the name of all that is holy and sacred turn around from what's distracting you (Is it World Cup?) and make this child SLEEP.
Bleary-Eyed, Artificially Awake Thanks To Coffee, Never Had Bags Under Her Eyes Like This Before, Annie