The past few afternoons have been spent vetting preschools for Bea (for next year, though enrollment begins soon). I was lamenting to N how I miss living in a small town and only having a few options to choose from. He lovingly reminded me that I felt the opposite way when I lived in that small town. Grass, greener.
Sibby’s suddenly reverted into a newborn and has me up and down every two hours consistently, for the past three nights. Well it’s worse than a newborn really because she should be old enough to be through this by now and none of my newborns were EVER this bad with sleep. (Bea was doing four-six hour stretches the night we brought her home and MG was not too far behind that).
I can’t nap though, not with school pickup in the middle of my day and a few precious moments of quiet time immediately proceeding. My body has gotten into the habit of it, and I’ve prayed that God would take my broken 6 hours of sleep and turn them into 8. So I’m functioning through it, and find my linguistic skills are the most affected. By the time 4pm rolls around, I can barely carry on a conversation without mumbling, losing my train of thought, or having a moment of panic where I can’t come up with the correct word.
In the evenings, I should go to bed at 8:30 after I put Sibby down. I should. But I don’t. I stay up, sometimes as late as 11, just to show the clock who’s boss. It’s the only time in my day where I control my hours, so it’s worth it to me, most nights. It makes me feel human. And besides, I may as well stay up for one more feeding to get it behind me before my first nap of the night.
It’s winter here but it doesn’t much feel like it. The temps have been hovering around 60-65, sometimes higher. The trees in our backyard were vivid green, then scaled backwards through the rainbow, and now they are a morbid brown. We have tipped back over to the waxing sunset, the one that appears a little later each day. We are winter in looks but spring on the brain.
That is, until about 4pm, then we are winter in the brain too.