So I sat next to him and did a little work while we watched (what else) Peppa Pig. Just as I was about to start his little bedtime routine, Declan woke up.
I won’t go into the details because they don’t matter but it was basically whack a mole for the next 2.5 hours. They couldn’t settle. I had been up since 5:30 that morning, no one had napped, I was so physically and mentally exhausted (pregnancy insomnia is the worst) that I couldn’t decide if I felt like throwing up or crying or heck, maybe both.
The kids cried, I cried, I raised my voice, they raised their voices…
It wasn’t pretty, ok?
By 9:30 – FOUR hours after their bath, I was finally eating for the first time since 10am and sitting alone for the first time since 5:30am and I’m not sure I did much beside stare at the wall in a daze.
I hate when nights play out like that. I go to bed feeling guilty about my lack of patience and about anger being one of the last emotions felt in the house before everyone falls asleep.
This morning, Declan woke up at 5:30 as he always does and we’ve been hanging out in my bed, sharing a Larabar and snuggles. I think he’s forgiven me for my impatience and exhaustion last night because he’s giggly and chatty and happy.
I’m glad that after the darkness falls – and some nights are really dark – the sun always rises, a new day begins and we can all try again. Thankful that no matter what, His mercies are new every morning. And these stubborn, high maintenance littles of mine might push me right to the very brink of absolute mental breakdown mode some nights but their smiles and hugs every morning teach me so much about unconditional love and forgiveness.