The night of her first...

Meet my daughter Penelope.  

Otherwise known as my night terror. It's 3am and I have just allowed my couch cushions to swallow my screams. I haven't punched anything yet, but if she doesn't sleep soon, that poor chair is gonna get it.

It's now 5am and I'm pretty sure I have a small bald spot from where I've tugged at my hair because I can't do anything else when she is in my arms but that, and maybe cry. Honestly, I think I'm too tired to even produce tears.

Those were just a couple moments from the terror night. I won't lie, it was brutal. These are our nights. Since she was 4 months old we've had a couple of them each month and they test our patience beyond what we ever thought possible. Last night was no exception. J and I snapped and yelled at each other in frustration, then clung to each other tightly hoping to get some sort of calm. I'm glad it's morning and Penelope has finally gone down for a nap. 

I have had too much coffee to go back to sleep with her, but I'm grateful for what could be another half hour of silence before she wakes. I know I'm not alone in this; I know other mamas who have it even worse. All I can do is look on the positive side, which was the 2 hours we spent together this morning. 

I let her crawl around nude, while she laughed, stopping to play her keyboard. I fed her berries while I had breakfast. I felt a sharpness against my finger that was ungodly painful. It was Penelope biting down on my finger, missing her latest berry victim. (Seriously she looks as though she has murdered the bowl of fruit)...

"Could it be?" I ask myself, afraid to get too excited for fear of deep disappointment. As I reach my finger into her mouth again, I feel it. A TOOTH! Let the band play people, we finally have a tooth! After 5 months of teething rings, crackers, ice cubes in facecloths, her massaging her gums on my nipples, homeopathic tablets and capsules, we finally have a tooth! 

So last night was brutal, but at least there was an obvious reason for it. I'm going to call this one a success.

The Mother's Day gift post, brought to you by the letter "B"...

Ah, it's almost here. Our first Mother's Day. A day to celebrate the bond with our children. A day for....

 

sleep.

This post is brought to you by the letter B.

B isn't for boobs, although I'd take a day with having them all to myself. It's for Bed - what every mama REALLY wants for Mother's Day. No, not an actually bed, but come to think of it, a new mattress would be lovely. 

No matter how you break it down, somehow, it's what we're praying our partners will come through with. Let's take a look... 

1. bed, as in: Let me stay wrapped in blankets for much longer than you while you get up and take the baby out of the house so I can sleep in it.

2. bed, as in: Let's do the horizontal tango in it - and if we're lucky, that might be brought to us by the letter "O" as well.

3. bed, as in: Serve me breakfast in it. With a giant cup of coffee. Preferably after you've let me sleep in. But, I'll also accept simply eating delicious food I didn't make while I read a trashy novel in it.

4. bed, as in: the one with flowers/herbs/vegetables in it. Let me enjoy an afternoon to garden, feeling my hands in the dirt, the monotony of pulling weeds with birds chirping nearby and not having to stop every 3 minutes to attend to baby. Yes please.

5. bed, as in: the massage kind. Okay, technically this is a massage "table" but let's not be too picky here. Mama wants a damn massage!

A letter for Penelope: NOT THE BOOKS!

Dear Penelope, 

Now that you've learned to crawl, and pull yourself up enough... You've also learned how to get at all the lovely things Mama owns, and quickly pull them down to your level. And even through dug up plants, broken ornaments and chewed records, she realizes it's all part of the process.  You're turning into a toddler.

Until this morning. This morning mama has admitted defeat and is now trying to find every possible baby proofing object she can find. All to save the books. 

Short of mounting the bookshelves 3 feet off the ground, she doesn't see how it's possible to save the covers of her favorite novels from being ripped off and sections of paragraphs from being devoured. At this rate mama's going to be digging sentences out of your diaper.

At least you have good taste in fiction: