early mornings with my last baby

April 25, 2018

It’s 6:40.

It has been a rough 2 days – Genevieve has croup.  I heard the classic barking cough on Monday afternoon and thought “really!?  Isn’t she young for this?” but the diagnosis was confirmed when stridor hit right when it always does, in the middle of the night.
I had grand plans: morning workouts written in my pristine new planner.  Yesterday it said “run” and today “MS”, for Mommastrong.  Neither are going to happen.  G has been up late, early, and in between, and these goals are just unrealistic for this week.  But I am as okay with this as I ever have been.
She started making noise again at 5:45 this morning, just as I was putting away the pump.  Initially I felt anguish.  Indignation.  And adding insult to injury, there was only 80 ml collected this morning because — well, I think it’s because she ate all night.  But I picked her up and brought her downstairs, recovering from my initial negativity.  Her waking up was due to feeling sick, her needing me — it was just the best she could do this morning.  And somehow I had enough leftover to feed her, rocking her quietly in the darkness.  I didn’t need a pillow like I sometimes do.  She was just curled up perfectly in my arms, quietly nursing, a hand gently exploring the edge of my shirt.  And then she fell asleep as I lay next to her on Annabel’s former bed.  She’s still there.  I hear her breathing as I type this, waiting for the first glints of morning sunlight to cause her to stir.
I am still frustrated at times these days.  Work feels really stressful and frantic with pump sessions added.  I don’t have nearly as much time for reflection and creative expression, and I am definitely not as physically active as I’d like to be.  The sleep deprivation is tough, and it’s unrelenting right now.  But this morning it struck me how much I am going to miss these days.  The feeling of being everything to a tiny little human.  Hearing whimpers turn to rhythmic sighs, her expression of pure comfort that feels warm and perfect.  These days are going to be over so quickly.  The fatigue will dissipate but I hope I will keep the memories forever.  

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