The Unmitigated Fuck-up.
This being said, I am a horrible-terrible person when I'm roused precipitately from my sleep. The first time I went in to see if I couldn't get her to settle down, I was calm and gentle, although seething inwardly, and I changed her diaper and wet sleeper (which I attributed her waking up to) and rocked her until she quieted down. Then I put her back in her crib and headed off to the bathroom. This was the moment my dear cat decided it would be fun to nudge and scratch her way into the bedroom, therefore causing Zoey to start wailing again. I decided to give her a few minutes, figuring she'd fall back asleep.
No dice. 45 minutes later, and she was still hollering. With each banshee screech, I got more and more worked up, and then I knew that even if she did go back to sleep, there was no way I would. So, in a fury, I roared into her room, got her out of her crib, gave her a bottle, and resigned myself to waking up before it was even close to being light out. When, by the way, I am accustomed to not even hearing a sound from Zoey until 8:30, 9 in the morning.
I thought there was a chance she might take a nap at around 8, but guess what? Sango woke her up--again. I threw the damn cat in the storage room and locked her in. Then, I went into Zoey's room to get her up--again. And then, in a towering temper at this point, I went upstairs with her--again. And have been sitting in an exhausted fog, waiting for her to give me indications that she might be ready to take a nap--again.
Here's the thing. I wish to God I could just be of a calm disposition instead of such a spastic one. I yelled at God, speaking of Him, I yelled at the cat, I yelled at inanimate objects, I yelled at myself. I managed, however, not to yell at Zoey.
My question, then, is why do I flip out about these things? Screaming and swearing isn't going to do anything to fix the situation; all it's going to do is make it worse. However, I just can't seem to keep myself from doing it. It seems like this is one thing I can't tolerate. I really hate waking up three times in a night, only to be woken with an air of finality before the clock has even reached five am and the sun has even bothered to get up. And to put a little cherry on the sundae, yesterday was spent in perpetual motion. I'm tired. I'm failing to comprehend how Zoey, who has refused to sleep or eat for the past two or three days, is still running around like a mental patient on amphetamines.
I hate to admit this, but days like this, I really just kind of want to crawl into a hole and expire. I can't bear the thought of continuing to feel this way when there's no reprieve in sight. I don't have anyone to relieve me of my motherly duties--nope, all I've got is work, which is basically the same thing, only infinitely worse. And at the end of the day, all I have is my stupid movies and ice cream. Even that, it seems, is going to be lost to me if this new anti-sleep streak keeps up. So, good-bye everything that I enjoy. I'm too exhausted to run, I can't play rugby because I don't have a babysitter, I can't write because Zoey will not sleep or nap, and I can't read because I have no time for it.
Here's the best part. I have absolutely no one to go to. I know, of course, that I just need to get used to it because I pretty much kissed everything else in my life so long when I had Zoey, but it's so hard. I miss writing, I miss reading, I miss drawing, I miss running, I miss swimming, I miss relaxing. And I don't have anyone at the end of the day to say, "I know you made sacrifices and you're doing a great job." HUG.
There's nothing. Just silence following Zoey's first little hour-long catnap at night, then screaming child, diapers, and sleep-deprivation. No one to help, comfort, or support me. Just Dad guilt-tripping me, Mom picking at me, and Ron burdened by all my fuck-ups. Nothing, no one, and nowhere. That is my life.
Um, yeah. Fuck it.