Today is Day 14 of sleep deprivation. 14 consecutive days of waking up every 3 hours (or as close to that as possible) nightly to feed little E.

Some days it’s all I can do to pry myself out of bed without hitting the snooze on my phone alarm like 10 times, wake up the little one, and go through the ritual of feeding on one side, burping (this part alone is like a 15 minute process), then changing her diaper, then feeding on the other side, and then burping again (yes another 15 minutes). And then, with any luck, she will fall asleep and in three quick movements I’ll have her swaddled all up and back in her little bassinet. Those are on the good nights. And mind you that this happens about 4 times a night between 9p and 6am.

Then there are the nights that don’t go as smoothly and I experience frustration and exhaustion on a level I haven’t quite experienced before. It’s like a hangover gone horribly wrong, daily, without rest. Because even when you’re in your 20’s and you have a hangover or a weekend filled without sleep, you still manage to find that day to recover and rest and regain your energy.

That doesn’t quite happen with a kid, you don’t get that chance to recover. It’s just sleep that you’ve lost and you try to get a nap in and it’s like fooling your body into believing that you’ve gotten a little recovery and somehow your body believes it and recharges and is ready to go again. Until you’re hit with a rough night, an uncooperative kid, and then all your reserves sort of come crashing down.

And then you see this cute little tender face looking back at you and you wonder what is being processed in her little brain, or you get a tender touch from your husband that lets you know you’re doing a great job, or your three year old beams up at you and you know that you will valiantly go through whatever more you need to and that God will give you the strength.