Wait, what day is... Is this a week day?

Vin has never been what you might call a "good sleeper." When he was little he had the reflux issues, then constant teething and then - well, I don't know what, but he just isn't thtrong thhleeper (picturing Martin Short there.)

Letting him cry it out, only produces hours of screeching and popped blood vessels. Trying to soothe him, equals play time to him - and forget about co-sleeping. He is NOT interested in being in our big bed with us two nerds. (Fine by me.) We still haven't exactly figured out what our best solution is. Every time we think we have a rhythm, or like I think I have his schedule down pat - something changes. I knew the one nap switch was looming and now it's sort of happening. (Oh, how I loved the 2 two hour naps!)

I say sort of, because he's either taking three tiny ones and filling our days with super cranky pants behavior, or one solid one and up and down all night.

I continue to remember before I got pregnant. I'd noticed that all of my friends had gotten a little bit... well, crinkly around the edges after having kids. There were laugh lines and a little darkening under the eyes. There was maybe a stray gray hair here and there. While I know this is odd, I envied them that. They were small battle scars that made them even more beautiful. They were mothers - a physically adaptive state. They had gone through a maturing process that I wanted so badly to experience. (Even though I knew I'd look back and think - you idiot! You already had gray hairs!)

Well, now I have more. I have a wrinkle under the bag under one of my eyes that never goes away no matter how many cucumber slices I affix to my puffy face. There is also the permanent scowl wrinkle between my eyes and god help me I believe I plucked a cat whisker off the side of my mouth the other day - except it was attached. I wander into rooms and stare because I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing. In my world, it's now completely acceptable to go to the store in pants smeared with baby food detritus. If I smell poop, there's a whole LIST of different places I have to check to find the culprit (did I mention Matt's back at home during the days again?)

I keep thinking back fondly to my birthday weekend when my saintly mother and sister came to stay with the kid. Matt and I foolishly tried to get ourselves on an adventure. We really should have just stayed put somewhere - a very, very dark room and done nothing but sleep. It's a bone deep tired that I've sort of accepted as our new way of being. My days might occasionally be mired in a quicksand of "whatdidiwantinthis - did you poo - get out of the cat food!" But it is mostly fun.

Someday, he will be a teenager and I will probably miss the days that I got to cradle him as his hands slowly reached up - one to tug his ear, the other to suck on. He's fast becoming this little boy and the words are just riiiiiiight there. So close. This morning he looked down the hall to where I was and cried, "Mama!" I was so excited that I raced down the hall and scooped him up. He immediately twisted away and took off after the cat. "Mama!" Perhaps he was saying, "Mama! Look! The cat!"







Maaaaammmma!