Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Baby: Queen of the Night

     I do not even know.  This kid thing man; the benefits are seriously debatable.  I love my daughter; she is amazing and cute and awesome: but the mom thing, possibly not my gig.  First of all, it is HARD.  Like hella hard.  Harder than anything I could have imagined doing in a way I could have never imagined it.  Now, apparently my child is not a piece of cake: she has reflux, so partially-digested milk regularly jettisons out of her mouth like a lawn sprinkler. She is six months and wakes up every two hours, when a lot of babies sleep through the night at 3 months.  She doesn't nap for longer than 20 minutes.  She doesn't cry as much as some babies, but she definitely cries and, MOTHEROFGOD, when this child cries it is as though she is summoning demons of darkness.
 And I am so tired.
     Before having a baby I was already kind of pathologically tired.  I have, on more than one occasion, fallen asleep while talking to someone... in person.  Not even kidding.  I used to have to pull over to the side of the road during the hour and a half drive to and from college because I would literally pinching myself to stay awake.  And its not as though I am don't sleep if given the opportunity.  I could easily sleep any span from 5-17 hours a day, and still need a nap.  So, generally speaking, I am very used to being in need of sleep.  That is kind of the space I live: Sleepyville.  I am the mayor.  Naturally therefore, my child is Wakey Wakerstein from Fussy-facelandia.  As result, I stumble through my life, confused, cranky and covered in grime, like a zombie from Night of the Living Dead that accidentally ended up on the Muppet Babies.
     Being so tired is trying on any one's mental faculties, but having depression and no sleep is just killer.   I would not say I am suicidal, but dark thoughts have definitely come back in full force.   There have been times when I believed that LO would be better off without me.  I often feel trapped, like she is a shackle that I have placed upon myself that will imprison me the rest of my life.
     I don't understand: I don't understand how moms do it.  How have we survived as a species?  How was it that the first mom did not just leave her screeching, gooey parasites by the side of the road?  Where does the strength to carry on come from? 
From her I suppose.  Because she is cute, and funny and she needs me.  Plus, you know, God forbid she beckon her demons.

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