Yesterday was a hard day. The previous night my two year old decided to pull an all-nighter. So she wasn’t literally awake the whole time — she’d sleep for 20 minutes and then cry for 40 minutes — but I was nearly awake the whole night. By the time morning arrived, I was a zombie. My husband had gone to bed earlier than I had and during the first two hours that my toddler was actually sleeping, so he managed to get just a little bit more sleep than I had. So, we were both pretty fried.
He had to go to work, of course, and I had my “work” with the girls. I was not functional in the least, so after breakfast (and LOTS of coffee) I made a little pallet on the floor for the three of us to lie on and turned the TV on for a couple hours. It was pretty quiet and peaceful and enough to get me through the rest of my day (though none of us actually slept during that time).
After lunch I attempted to put my little one down for a nap but didn’t actually think she’d take one since she has been doing her best to avoid them lately. She eventually fell asleep long enough for me to start a shower, waking up when I was half way through. I let her cry for a bit with the hopes she would fall asleep again, but after about 20 minutes I lost hope. I went in to get her out of her bed and decided to sit with her in her room for a bit to give her a gentle transition to the world outside her room, but when I sat she put her head on my chest and I could tell there was a *chance* of her falling asleep. Because she is two, I pretty much NEVER do that anymore, but hey, sleep is sleep. She proceeded to take a 45 minute nap while I held all 30 pounds of her.
The three of us made it through the afternoon with very little drama (and no more TV). When my equally tired (and sickly) husband came home, we had a no fuss dinner of leftovers. We started to give my little one a quick bath because I thought it would help her sleep better, but as I was attempting this I got a migraine. (Probably from the lack of sleep.) Eventually we get her to bed just a few minutes later than I intended, and he and I held our collective breath as she cried instead of slept upon his exit from her room. We started to make a contingency plan for her crying to help us get through the evening, but amazingly enough, human physiology gave way, and she was asleep within ten minutes. Still, with our previous night haunting us, we continued to hold our collective breath for the next hour. She stayed asleep, so my husband went for a “quick 3 mile run” (yes, crazy), and I sat in the recliner enjoying the dark silence.
When he returned from his run, he went to our room to shower and I wrapped things up in the rest of the house. He closed the door to our room (I guess to keep our cats from coming back in) and when I needed to go in, my hands were completely full — I had the baby monitor, my tea, my phone, a water bottle — and there is nothing close to the door for me to set my things on. Because I could hear he was out of the shower, I started to *try* to knock on the door, but with full hands all I could really do was kind of kick the door (but not too loudly since I didn’t want to wake the little one) and kind of tap with my finger tips. I was so tired that turning around to put my stuff down to open the door seemed like an exhausting option.
He was not responding, so I decided to give him about thirty more seconds before I went with plan B. Finally, I hear him come toward the door, which he cracks open quickly and proceeds to squirt my feet with a spray bottle because he thought I was a cat.
Like I said, yesterday was a hard day.