He Who Wears Me Out

I pissed off my little drama king this morning by changing his clothes again before we left for school. He was already in an emotional state and the switching of his mismatched outfit was the straw that broke his baby camel’s back but I had to. It was cold out. C-O-L-D. So I dressed him in a warmer mismatched version and dropped his fussy self at school. The past two mornings (the Hubs has been out of town since Wed.), W has awoken at 5:22 a.m. (Thursday a.m.) and 2:27 a.m. (today). I have tried to thwart his ribcage rattling cough with meds but the situation persists. It’s hard on the little guy and, consequently, hard on momma. This restlessness has been going on a week now. We roam the house in the dark as I try to console his spirit and encourage sleep again. Memories of his early days on this planet come tumbling back. Oh, how I don’t miss those sleepless nights but here we are again. Two nights ago, I ended up on the couch and W finished the night on his miniature sofa. Last night, after much rocking and back patting, we collapsed on the couch together. It’s amazing how such a small person can take up so much space. Add to that the mutual fatigue, the perpetual crankiness, the “I will cry like you are beating me if you put me down” mood, and the “the water feels like acid on my skin” at bath time spectacle and it makes for some exhausting mornings and evenings during the work week. TGIF. When the Hubs returns tomorrow, I’m making the baby hand off and checking in to a hotel…or an asylum. Wherever I can get some uninterrupted sleep.