Our days continue to be full of sweet, nuzzle-y moments (exhibit A, Iris playing with Oliver after tub time). Our nights, however, have mostly gone to hell. Not that Oliver doesn’t sleep; he actually sleeps pretty fantastically after eleven or midnight. Until then, he mostly screams/fusses/requires 100% of at least one parent’s energy (sometimes both. It depends) starting about the time we put Iris to bed. Since he is otherwise all sunshine and rainbows, I think it’s either normal baby stuff or maybe we just make colicky babies? (And if this is normal baby stuff and you don’t have kids yet, the Gandalf FLY YOU FOOL gif might just continue to be one of the more relevant ones out there). I really have no idea. He naps well, eats on demand, spends most of his day in the carrier…
He’s a happy, healthy little chunk. Just not between 8 and 11pm.
Basically, they tag-team us. Oliver keeps us busy until 11 when we collapse into bed, then they take turns getting us up in the night, and Iris pops up for the day somewhere between 5:30 and 6.
I. Am. Dying.
Not just from the sleep stuff, although that sucks, but with Oliver’s colicky evenings I literally have no breaks for the mental health stuff—the creative pursuits and showers sans crying babies. I’m actually writing this standing up at the kitchen counter because Oliver’s napping in the carrier on my chest and he’ll wake up if I sit down. Iris is asleep upstairs, but she only went down for her nap because I drove her around for a while in the car—although I can’t let her STAY asleep in the car, because then Oliver wakes up and (yes) cries. My days are pretty much one of those nonsensical logic puzzles Lewis Carroll excelled at.
But that’s life. Those are the problems inherent in the life I chose, and I know it won’t be like this forever.
It just is right now.
So until it stops, I’m pretty much putting everything else on hold. Project 52, better blogging, having a schedule for Iris other than Netflix… I’m going to have to figure that out later. Maybe that can be my goals list for 2014.
And in the very short-term, maybe I will even go upstairs and change the whole changing table since Ollie soaked it when I changed his diaper mid-paragraph a few minutes ago. Who knows. I might even get something legitimately clean before Iris wakes up and wants chicken nuggets.
But yes. This photo (exhibit B) is pretty much why everything in my life right now. Babies are magical little monsters, and that shaggy forelock is killing me. She looks, running around the house with smears of chocolate and dirt, a lot like a wild pony from Chincoteague.