Monkey was up every two hours Saturday night. I let him cry himself back to sleep for a few of the wakings, since I knew he wasn’t actually hungry. For those I wasn’t so sure about, I crawled out of bed to nurse him back to sleep. Owing to his exhaustion, Monkey was a holy terror on Sunday, refusing to eat or sleep and resorting to tantrums instead. He actually hit me in the head once while I was trying to nurse, then grabbed onto my breast and pinched the holy fucking life out of it. My boob is still recovering from the abuse.
Luckily we all got some decent sleep last night, but I’m still dragging – partly due to residual sleep issues, partly due to a feeling a complete maternal incompetence, and partly due to anxiety for a crazy week ahead. I was suckered into presenting a poster next week for a hastily prepared symposium, and I have a couple of experiments that must first be finished (without which the poster session will be an utter waste of my time). And it all needs to be finished by Friday afternoon.
Why Friday? Cuz I’m leaving at the crack of dawn Saturday morning to travel to my best friend’s bachelorette party. I’m returning mid-day Sunday, likely in less than optimal poster-making shape. I’m sure I’ll enjoy the party once I’m there (although I have a feeling I’ll fall asleep on my margarita by 9pm). But I’m dreading the travel, the manual pump I just purchased, and the night away from Monkey. I’m already looking forward to getting back home and cuddling up with my baby boy in the recliner.
When did I become such a buzz kill???