When you first bring home your newborn baby, you’re expected to be up all night. You have this sweet-smelling, squealing pile of baby fluff to coo and ooh at you, calling for boob, cold, unable to coordinate it’s surroundings, needing you desperately. You’re expected to be zombie-like as a new mother, and if you’re lucky, you have friends and family that come to your rescue with meals, chore-doings, and other helpful items to help you survive those first days/weeks.
But when you’re child is your SIXTH child, and isn’t newborn, but TWO-FREAKIN’-YEARS-OLD!?!?
What the CRAP, yo?
Baby Dude has been tirelessly (literally) kicking my ass from here to next Tuesday every night this week. Some nights it’s non-stop boob, some nights it’s night terrors. Some nights it’s just because he can. Two nights ago he woke up at 3:45am, fresh as a daisy, wanting “Mouse” (Mickey Mouse) and breakfast. THREE-FORTY-FIVE-A.M. This morning it was bright and early at oh-dark-thirty for a freakin’ “too-tee” (cookie).
I am a shell of myself right now. I can’t climb out of bed in the mornings. I sleep through my alarm everyday, that is, if I remember to set it. Thankfully, my husband is here to schlep the kids off to school in the mornings, because their mother is too busy sleeping it off like a groom after his bachelor party in Vegas.
Unfortunately, next Wednesday my husband flies out to leave us for two weeks (again) and I’m going to be left here to do it all on my own. As if that isn’t hard enough, if Baby Dude keeps this up,
I’m we’re doomed.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. And I’m suffering gravely as a result.
Anyone have any ideas as to what I can do to help him, and, as a result, help myself as well? I’m freakin’ out, here.
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