I’m sick. Seabass is sick. Jake’s sick. And Sweet Chuck is sleep training. It’s been a special kind of hell around our house lately.
We can’t have anyone over, can’t go anywhere, can’t ask for help, and can’t sleep at night. Last night around 8:30 I started to doze off until Sweet Chuck woke up. We let her cry for a few minutes and she fell back asleep, but I was spun up like a meth addict. When I was finally able to wind down around 11:30am, the neighbors (yes, THOSE neighbors) decided to play beer pong in their back yard, about three and a half feet from my face. Before I called the cops, I fantasized about what sorts of things I’d like to say to them. I can’t recall details, but there were phrases like “…oh HELL no you are not waking me up again without CONsequences…” and “…treat you like the CHIMPS you are….”
Anyway. Being a stay-at-home mom is isolating enough, but being a sick stay-at-home mom is like solitary confinement. Only it isn’t solitary. Actually, come to think of it, solitary confinement sounds pretty good right now.
And sleep training, oy. I haven’t had to go back on antidepressants since Sweet Chuck was born, but if anything was going to tip me toward a breakdown, sleep training would be it. Fortunately, these are the sparkling eyes that greet me.