Night before last, that Baby of mine woke up at 11:00 pm, and stayed up until 4:00 in the ever-loving morning.
We went downstairs and watched part of V FOR VENDETTA, (not bad) and played with toys. At 2:00 am DH offered to take her for a bit, so I napped until 2:30, when he brought her to me, sleeping. Of course she immediately woke up.
"All done, all done," she signed, with a whimper.
"Baby go to sleep," I said.
"All done."
I didn't actually break down until 3:30 or so; one of the few times that I have cried with this baby. I was a little bit off when I had my first, there were so many more tears back then. How different things are now.
As we finally drifted off at 4:00, I was thinking about how far I've come as a mother. These long, slow, empty nights when I feel like I'm the only person in the whole world don't have so much power over me as they once did. I know now that I'll be okay, that the sun will come up and I can still have a good day even if I'm really, really tired.
And I did. I had one interview and one no-show, (have you ever not shown up for a job interview???) I laughed and I played with my kids and my husband made me supper and I was okay. At about 10:00 I started to feel the pull of fatigue, the heavy melancholy, the vulnerability. So I cast aside A BLADE OF GRASS, it's a very good book, but I'm really starting to worry about the two MCs. No anxiety, not tonight. Instead, I found my copy of Outlander, and I went to bed.
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