I was going to write a post about getting locked out on the deck today with Michael (the door knob broke) and implementing important survival skills like how to skin a cat and diaper a baby with the pelt, but I'm pooped.
Michael has been on a war path with sleep all week. I think he's teething. He has a slight fever. He's been waking up at night all week and refusing to nap all day. It came to a head today.
I knew that Michael was not going to go to bed tonight.
After thoroughly nursing, Michael decided that I would make a good jungle gym. I had it at that point. I don't mind spending almost an hour every night nursing him to sleep, but I ain't a pacifier and I ain't a jungle gym.
I tucked him in and left. Hysterics ensued. Came back in 3 minutes and tucked him in again (he was standing at the end of the crib). Hysteria. Vomiting.
Michael vomits at the drop of a hat. He is an expert puker. We hadn't been going at this for 5 minutes yet when he puked. But lucky us, he was standing at the end of the crib and puked out on the carpet. Better on the carpet than in the crib.
I came back in and tucked him in again. I came in one more time to do it and he was out about 30 seconds after I left the room. It took about 10 minutes all together.
Do I hate that it had to get to this point? Yes, very much. Do I feel bad that he puked? God yes, horrible. Did he need to f-ing go to sleep? YES. Have I been trying nicely to get him to sleep all day? GOD YES.
Some days I feel like such an awful parent. Some days I know that others judging from the outside would think I am an awful parent too. Well, good for them, I'm glad that they think they can do it so much better than me. I suck, you are superior, you win, here's your medal. My kid sleeping is my medal.
I just hope he makes it through the night. I can dream, can't I?