By 5, I was back in bed, expecting another couple of hours of blissful rest. Only I could not fall asleep. At 5:30, as my poor, sick husband was trying to drag himself out of bed and into the shower, I heard the scream. Seeing as she had just eaten from the buffet of overnight engorgement and couldn't possibly be hungry again, I knew. Dirty diaper.
It was all over. I would have to wrestle her out of footie jammies, and turn on a light to make sure her little bottom was all clean. (I can change a wet diaper blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back, but a dirty diaper requires three hands, and at least a little light. Hats off to anyone who can go without the lamp.) Of course, she then urinated mid-diaper change, necessitating a complete strip, and clean clothes. By the time it was over, she was ready to play.
C emerged from the shower at 6 to me singing random Christmas songs, and rocking, and nursing, and praying that Little Miss Early Bird would catch a few more zzzzzzs. No such luck.
And did I mention the spit-up in the middle. Yep, I got a clean shirt in the deal. Score! Oh, wait...
Of course, by 8, she was sleeping in my arms, and I was clinging to my coffee cup. I'm now floating through in that weird state where I'm exhausted and not sleepy. I've been awake since 4, so I figure I'm going to be surviving on caffeine by noon. Should be a fun one. Or something.
|Blurry 2mo dolphin-shirt cuteness. Blurry 'cause that's how the tired rolls. Cute to remind me not to find the gypsies.|