Baby May is entering a sleeping pattern. But, she hasn’t settled yet and the bedtime game is playing havoc with medicines and my sanity.
Last night, I went for a swim and when I’d returned my husband looked like he’d done battle with an elephant. “She’s asleep,” he said, with the triumphant exhaustion of a new dad.
“Did you give her the medicine?”
He sighed, “I couldn’t. I… I didn’t… I…”
As he couldn’t form sentences, I left it. But, inside, I’d already died a little death.
Sure enough, when I woke her for her meds hours later, she screamed straight for an hour and a half.
My husband just left for work this morning. He was dressed in his fluorescent biking gear. “Three times this week,” he said, pleased with his effort, before adding, “Were you up with her in the middle of the night last night?”
“No, I woke her for her meds and she wouldn’t go back to sleep. She was screaming for an hour and a half.”
“Really?” he looked surprised. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“I know,” I want to say.
Her medicines are important to me. When I deliver her meds, I feel like I am doing something beneficial for her. Everything else I do is not so tangible.
I am so tired. But, I got those meds down.