I love my baby girl. You know that if you've read even just one of my blog posts. But I could live without seeing her from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m. Oh, even 6:30 if it's really necessary. But lately, I've been seeing quite a lot of my little one in the night hours. Remi and I are routinely awakened at least once in the night, sometimes two times, if we're really lucky. And even when she does bless us with a good night's sleep, our own sleep cycles are so trained to be awakened that we are jittery around 3 a.m., expecting to hear cries.
We thought the worst was past us after the first few months of her life, but it seems that for the moment at least, she's not a heavy sleeper. Perhaps it's nightmares? It would be one thing if she'd simply go back to sleep after a little rocking or a half bottle of warm milk. But things are getting more complicated lately. Her breathing becomes more regular while we rock her and then we try to put her back in her crib. And the moment her body touches the mattress, the cries start back up. So we stroke her head and say "shhh", and she calms again. Only to let out a whimper when we reach the door (walking backwards on tiptoes, praying). A few times Remi or I have just slept on a sleeping bag beside her crib holding her hand until she really goes down.
Sometimes she pulls all the Murphy's baby laws on us, waking multiple times, the last time at 5:30, when I'm supposed to get up at 6. And it's at these moments that I mutter to Remi "God hates me." And instantly feel guilty. Because of course, losing sleep is nothing compared to people who've lost their entire families to floods or civil wars. But lack of sleep makes you think crazy. Makes logic fly out the window. Which is why we desperately need to solve baby's sleep problem.
And to top it all off this weekend we spring forward an hour. One hour less of sleep. Maybe God does hate me after all?