Last night was one of the roughest in a while. After consistently sleeping 4-5 hour stretches, she decided to wake up thrice to feed, twice to burp, once to puke and half a dozen times just for kicks. Throw in the milk expressing and I was practically up the whole night.
When she started to cry again at 6am, I could feel myself getting edgy and snappish. “What in blazers is the matter with you? Do you hate me that much? Do you? Do you? Huh?” I conveyed all that in a grunt and a sigh, which woke the husband (who decided to intervene and burp her while I dragged my ass out of bed to express milk again. Damn, it’s going to be a LOOOOONG day.
So I braced myself, drank my first cup of coffee in 10 months, took a deep breath and counted to 1,582, all the while mumbling “she’s just a baby, she’s just a baby, she’s just a baby… but I think she hates me”.
When I managed to pull it together sufficiently, I went back to pick her up and begged her for mercy held her for a while. Then for the first time, she looked at me, gave the cutest little gurgle and smiled. And I knew it wasn’t just gas. My baby girl smiled at me and my heart turned to mush. The events of last night seemed to vanish with that one tiny grin.
I think she doesn’t hate me after all.
