The night air feels heavy and hot. A language I don’t quite understand is echoing down the hall. Is that German? Are those cows? Why are cows speaking German? Where am I? Wasn’t I just making out with Ryan Gosling in what looked like my 2nd grade classroom? A baby is crying. Where is the baby?
Wake up. Wake up. Matt is running water. I can’t see anything. Wake up. Libby. Libby is crying. What time is it? 4:52. It’s still dark.
Time to switch. Fumbling to make a bottle I spill milk all over the counter. I’ll deal with that when I’m awake. Shut up damn dogs.
Libby won’t drink her bottle. Why is she still crying? You’ll wake Penelope. Shh baby, go back to sleep.
Please.
Why can’t babies comprehend please?
Penelope is awake and now so am I.
Can I get back to Ryan? Though I’m not sure what that dream was about maybe no more History channel or Cinemax before bed. I don’t even find Ryan Gosling sexually attractive, or do I?
Babies are jerks no I’m not talking about a 3 month old who can’t express herself or himself but with a cry here and there.
But the baby who wakes you up at 3am to laugh, punch, poke, or yell at you for their own amusement. Oh you know this baby, if you haven’t met yet you will.
This baby doesn’t want a bottle or clean diaper, this baby doesn’t want to snuggle. Well maybe this baby does want to snuggle, then rip your hair out, snuggle some more, and then bite you. This baby wants to take the bottle you just gave her and drag it across her crib like she is in prison clanking a plate against the bars of her cage. While yelling loud baby obscenities that you don’t understand at the top of her lungs!
This baby will only go back to sleep after she or he is sure that you are absolutely awake and all hope of you getting anymore rest is out the window. When you have begged and pleaded to the point of hysteria and only then.
Emotional terrorist. Tiny angel faced abusers.
I need a mom helpline, maybe witness protection.
