That's today's word.
Clara Mae's been teething and any of you who have kids know that beautiful pearly whites come at a great price of drool, anger and the release of the devil that lives inside of our gorgeous little, well-behaved children. My Miss Maze has recently sprouted her two bottom teeth and with them, a terrible mood.
Last night, she fell asleep at 10p. Normally, she sleeps 11 hours (I know, I know... I'm lucky. I should stop complaining. But this is a complaining-type post) so I thought staying up for an hour to read my book and brush my teeth was a brilliant idea. I hardly ever have time to read during the day so why not catch up a little bit before turning in?? 11:00pm rolled around just as I set my glasses and book on my nightstand and I tucked myself in. I had finally gotten cozy, found my perfect spot where years of slumber had eroded the memory foam topper to form around my body, when out of nowhere a blood curdling scream cut the silence. I shot straight up in bed, fumbling around the nightstand for the baby monitor so I could mute it and stop the noise. After 15 minutes of staring at my baby cry in her crib across the house and praying as hard as I've ever prayed for her to fall back to sleep, I slumped out of bed, knocking into the foot board on my bed (why did we need a foot board again?) As I made it to her room, she had fallen back to sleep. I covered her bare feet with her blankie and of course, as I was leaving the room, she woke back up startling me with that same blood curdling scream. I scooped her up and held her close. Her sweet little face stained by tears nuzzled into my shoulder and I cuddled her close, rocking her back to sleep. Sweet, right? Yeah. Not so much.
That lasted about 2 minutes, then she started talking. Talking loudly. Talking loudly while waving her razor sharp finger nails dangerously close to my cornea. I never realized my glasses were great for seeing AND safety! Too bad they were somewhere on the floor in my room from my flailing attempts to turn off the baby monitor earlier that evening. I tried to lay with her on the couch, but she needed restraining, which she didn't like. She kicked and screamed and flailed and farted. I guess that much movement is bound to create SOME kind of pressure. I finally got her settled down and even began to doze myself when she started scratching the couch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. I told God if he wanted me that badly, He could take me. No need for the torture. I'd come freely.
Around 2am she began to fall asleep but every time she closed her eyes, she would throw herself backward and start crying again. And not just the angry cry, but the "Mom! Please make this pain go away! I'm a good girl..." cry. I started stumbling around the living room, Clara in tow, looking for the Orajel I know I left on the TV tray after her bath. By this time, I couldn't even stand up straight, I was so tired, and then I had a screaming baby on my hip in desperate need of some mouthy numbness. Long story short: We were up until 3am because Clara wanted to play until her Tylenol wore off.
And we had to get up early to meet my grandparents for breakfast.
I woke her little stinker butt up at 8am. This is the look I got:
The whole day is a blur. I'm amazed I am even coherent enough to write this blog, unless I read this tomorrow when it posts and I realize I made no sense at all... I think that would be fitting for today. I forgot everything. My coupons were safely tucked away into their binder next to the phone when they should have been with me at the store. I bought zippers three sizes too short. I somehow managed to mangle my arm between the car seat and base while putting Clara in the SUV after meeting a friend for lunch.
How I managed to get any sewing finished today is beyond me. I didn't even have to use my seam ripper once!! (Knock on wood). And now, I am here, writing this post to let you all know that motherhood slapped me in the face today. Thankfully, Clara is in bed, bathed and I am ready to collapse. I'm exhausted.