So I haven’t been writing a lot since Little A was born. Actually, I haven’t been writing a lot since Little A became more than a sparkle in his mother’s eye. For some reason, I’ve been . . . wordless. But not really, because a lot of posts compose themselves in my head, but then a) I forget the witty words, 2) I don’t have time to write anything worthwhile due to picking up the house over and over and over again.

But more often than not it’s 3) I don’t think my kids would appreciate what I have to write. When JJ was little, he was the sole topic of my blog, and usually it was a forum for a gripe fest: “I’ve only slept this much last night”, “I’ve listening to this amount of screaming today”, “He yarfed in my wireless router and now I can’t connect online, i.e. adults, i.e. my life is oooovvvvveeeeeerrrrrrrr.” I’ve heard not-so-fun stories about me as a babe (and yes, mama, I know it’s not my fault; I know you loved me; but I also know that shipping me in a box to Abu Dhabi probably sounded pretty good . . . more than once), and I don’t know how I’d feel if they were available for all to hear.

Being a melancholy, I tend to look at life as a glass half-empty (or my favorite mug with a giant crack in it leaking sticky, staining liquid onto carpet that I’m never going to be able to get up . . . or something like that), and so many of my posts are not of the Pollyanna nature; therefore, I’m keeping them to myself (although some are pretty darn funny in a doom-and-gloom kind of way). But after last night, I just feel the need to purge. And if it damages my kids, oh well: there’s another necessary Journey to add to the list.

Little A has not been sleeping. Correction: Little A *used* to sleep. And Little A has not been eating. Correction: Little A *used* to eat. Then I had my wisdom teeth taken out. Which apparently removed his ability to slumber as well as for me to produce the edible spread he’s particular to. These side effects were NOT listed on the post-op care sheet.

See, if Little A had been a lousy sleeper and eater from the beginning, it’d be a little easier for me: I would have known no difference. But he’s gone from eating contentedly on one side to fighting me while eating on both sides and the howling bloody murder because heaven forbid he might actually have to work a little bit for his food. And he’s gone from waking once a night (and even a couple nights – not.at.all) to asserting his college night-owl self about two decades too early.

Last night was an especially crappy night (don’t tell JJ I said ‘crappy’: he likes to repeat that: not so good: at least it’s not like when I ran into Mom asking her why Dad said “Damn, damn, damn” ). Little A woke up at 1:15, which wouldn’t be all that big of a deal if he would’ve gone back to sleep well. But he didn’t. I had to work with him to stop moving his arms and throwing his head from side-to-side for quite some time. Then he woke up at 2:45. Hello: middle of my sleep cycle – so painful. Hubby actually took him, and then things happened (I think he had to be re-swaddled? . . . I was in delirium from FOUR MONTHS OF THIS): there was howling: I ran into the room, ran downstairs to warm up a pumped bottle EVEN THOUGH I FED HIM 1.5 HOURS AGO. He ate it. It wasn’t enough. I had to warm up another bottle. He ate it. JJ woke up. Came into our bedroom. Went into our bathroom. Lifted the toilet seat. Silence. A cry. I got up again: to a wet floor. Joy. Wiped down the floor. Changed his pants (cause he peed *on* them). Got him into bed. Hubby went to do battle with Little A: Hubby lost. I tagged him out and rocked Little A for 45 minutes. Went downstairs to pump because it was 4:30 when he normally eats. In the middle of pumping, Little A woke up. Hubby did not. Had to stop pumping, get Little A back down, finish pumping, and go back to sleep. For 45 minutes until Little A woke up again, and I hauled him into bed with me. And then he woke 45 minutes after that, I nursed him, and hopped in the shower. Hubby got him back to sleep, and he’s been sleeping for the last hour and a half.

Do you see how I could have a hard time trying to find positive things to write? Or even things in general? It’s amazing I can communicate, much less type coherent words: God bless spell check.

During one of the bottle feedings, Hubby tried to warm the bottle up on his own with Little A in tow. But in the midst of getting the lid on, he spilled some of the Liquid Gold. I heard him yell, sprinted downstairs to make sure no one was experiencing bodily harm, and realized I could have two reactions: I could cry or be mad, cause Lord knows how much I *LOVE* pumping (can I get a moooooo?), or I could recognize that it’s just spilled milk. That I have formula if I need as back up. That’s it’s just one night, and that it will pass.

And that I get to spend the weekend with my folks who will help us get some sleep, cause they have the magic Grandparent touch.

I know: they’re innocent darlings, aren’t they? So are harpies: pretty song to lure you to *death* – or at least sleep deprivation.

Daily Drivel, JJ Jawings, Little A Adventures, Mama Musings