I’ve never been a night owl. Usually by 9pm my body and brain begins to shut down and I long to cozy up in my bed and get in a good nights sleep.
As I stand in the darkness of our room desperately trying to rock our almost one month old to sleep, I peer over at our clock and see the minutes tick away. 9:45p…9:48pm…9:50pm… And I look down to see our daughter’s eyes wide open while making silly little faces with her mouth, and I feel like the bed summons me while the night laughs at me because it knows that rest is far away. I can barely bear to keep swaying back and forth, back and forth, almost willing our daughter’s eyes to close, and I feel the despair rising in me, knowing that it may be hours before that happens.
There is so much I can effortlessly do during the day. I don’t even know where the energy comes from, but then once night falls and I see the time slipping away, I almost want to cry at how utterly exhausted I feel. I don’t know how much longer I can continue this. Just 2 more weeks until we hit the 6 week mark, but there is no guarantee that things will get better. Just the hope that they will, that I won’t see a 7th or 8th week of interrupted sleep. That I may finally get 4 straight hours of sleep. How I long for that moment. To the point I know it’s keeping me from enjoying this moment. This moment that I am trying desperately to survive day by day.
I have become fixated on this. It is all I have blogged about. It is all I can think about.
I long for rest and sleep. I long to be friends once more with the night and feels it’s warm embrace.