For the love of god please nap or at least let me put you down for a hot minute

This was my mantra today. Small one is going through a clingy phase, which I thought was mostly over (and to be fair it hasn’t been as bad as it was in the summer), but it continues. Plus, her naps are inexplicably getting shorter and harder to make happen. And bedtime isn’t great either … sigh.

There’s a reason they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. It’s not going to break you on the first night – but slowly, surely, it eventually will.  I’d have given up all my secrets months ago in exchange for a six-hour stretch at night. But for the past few months, at least I had naps. Naps were my ace in the hole. Not so much this week: where I used to get two hours to have my coffee, do some writing, clean up and start prepping dinner, this week I’m lucky to get 45 minutes. I realize some people would probably kill for that, but it’s been an adjustment for me. She’s not a cuddler – she twists around to face forward when I pick her up – but she screams when she’s put down. She’s a complicated woman and I am a pawn in her sick little game.

Okay, so I’m being dramatic: she doesn’t always scream when I put her down. Sometimes she’s perfectly fine scooting around on the floor without being held. But she will lose her mind if I walk away to grab a glass of water or chop an onion or whatever. So I have to sit there and entertain her on the floor. I get exactly zero done when she’s awake. And then that thing happens – you know that thing, where your husband comes home and he’s had a long day at work and dinner isn’t made and you’re still in your pyjamas and he somehow resists the urge to ask “what did you even do all day?” because he’s a smart dude and knows what’s good for him, but you’re silently asking yourself that question anyway? That thing happens. And here we are.

I had corn nuts for lunch today, by the way. Corn nuts. I mean, they were exquisite, but.

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She’s lucky she’s cute.

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