Sleep Deprivation and That One Time My Husband Called it Babysitting

Yawn. Oh, hi there! I’m sorry, was I dozing off again? That has been my life since I started back at work. Not because work is overly tiring, but because my precious little sleep-through-the-night-8-to-10-hours princess decided that it would be the PERFECT time to prove me wrong. Amelia Mae is waking up about 2-3 times a night these days, and not soothing herself back to sleep one bit. Nope, she wants mommy—she wants to eat. Even if she’s not hungry, by golly, she’s going to cry until mommy comforts her.

I know pretty much every parent goes through this with a baby, but in the middle of the night when I’m awakened for what feels like the umpteenth time, in my head I’m thinking, “OH MY GOSH. I’m never going to sleep again. No one has ever dealt with a baby like this. Why is my baby so crazy? Is Amelia going to wake up every night for the rest of my life? That’s it! I won’t be able to rest until she turns 30 and we let her move out.” GAHHHHHHHHHHHH. That’s the sound I make when I’m so tired there are no words. I find myself coaching myself awake on the freeway in the morning. “Gotta. Get. To. Work. Keep. Those. Eyelids. Open.” Then I feel like a big baby for complaining about being tired. But WAHHHHHHH (another sound of exhaustion) I’m pooped. More pooped than Amelia’s diaper after she eats three times at night to go back to sleep.

And then, after a night filled with cries and groans and maybe a few curse words under my breath, it’s time to get up and get us ready for the day. Guess who is alllllll smiles as I try to accomplish things like changing diapers through my blurred vision. Yes, my beautiful, bald pumpkin just lights up with love in the morning so it’s hard to even think about how the night before went.

End scene. At least, that scene.

And now I’m bringing up the time that we went to a party last weekend to celebrate an adorable little girl’s one-year birthday. The hubs was chatting with a couple guy friends at the table while we ate and he uttered the words, “I was home babysitting while Heidi went out with her friends.” I think the crêpe I was enjoying damn near fell out of my mouth—I know for certain my glare burned through his can of Coca Cola. Needless to say, after a few words I am positive he will never refer to watching his own daughter as “babysitting” again. At least not while I’m there. 

I’m not really as scary as it may seem. Or, am I? 😉

Until next time, friends!

Notice the forcing of the eyes to stay open. It’s like the opposite of smizing! 
And the little dumpling who can do no wrong! (Excuse the mess in the background–which I’ll harp on in a future blog.)