This post is dedicated to my friend , Becka Key. She once made fun of me for climbing INTO my first son’s crib to get him to sleep. Luckily I weigh 47 pounds, so there was no danger to the crib caving in. I swore to her I would never do this again. With our second child this did not ever happen, as I was embarrassed from my admittance the first time. Surely Becka would make fun of me. I must only rock the babies, not get into the crib with them.
Fight the urge to nurture, inside the crib. Fight it . Fight it.
When my babies keep me up all hours of the night, past age two… there isn’t many fruits of the spirit that come out. My patience level is shot and all I want to do is close my eyes and dream of vasectomies. Snip snip snip goes the cries, and I sleep soundly in my bed. These are the moments that I am aware my uterus has a bipolar disorder.
Make more babies for me to cuddle. No, don’t , Look at that one screaming on your lap asking to watch Teletubbies. There is never a good hour to endure the pain your ears go through, especially not 4 am. Just get into her crib with her Rachel. There is no other option. You’ve tried everything.
You’ve rocked her. Read her Baby Wise aloud, as she explosively laughed at each word on the page. In defiance to your voice. You’ve rubbed her down with lavender lotion, so much so that her Pj’s are sticking to her sticky body. Perhaps it was too much.
You’ve tried putting her in your bed, but alas she only wants to pick your nose and sing Happy Birthday to her Grandfather, who is not present. You check for a fever, and ask her if she could be hallucinating. You pace the living room floor trying to quiet her screams, wondering if your country neighbor will come to your door expressing he believes there is a hyena in heat in your front yard. He has come to shoot it so it will not attack your trash cans at road, thinking it is a mate.
You’ve tried singing hymns to quiet her little spirit, but end up singing ” We will rock you” as you rock too hard in a cold rage. The urge to get into her crib with her lingers. Like an old habit. Bite those nails Rachel, they never grow long enough to look pretty anyway.
It a sleepy stupor you hike your right leg over the crib rail. You turn around to see if Becka is watching and bring your baby into the crib.
” Momma, you sleep me?”
” Yes baby, but never tell Becka. Do we have an understanding here? Now go to sleep before I pull all of my hair out and donate it .”
Laying there with my left arm going numb shame comes upon my spirit. How could I have done this to myself? To my baby? She is now sound asleep, and I am afraid to move. To breathe for fear of waking her. I contemplated sleeping with the enemy in her crib, but I knew how that movie ends.
Slowly I begin to lift my head. Her hand comes crashing down on my face. ” MOMMA NO!”
I stay five minutes more, defeated and having to pee.
My eyes roll back into my head. 4 am. I haven’t slept at all yet. I didn’t deserve sleep after what I had done. I might as well go brew a pot of coffee and meditate on the bible. Any part of it really. I am a horrible person.
She begins to snore, and I knew if I didn’t make a run for my bed in that moment I may never get out.
As fast as slow as I could go, I lifted my head. Grabbed my ball and chain and slowly and fiercely lifted my leg over the rail. Experience in Gymnastics all those years has paid off. I did a front flip, back handspring over the laxer lights that lit up the floor.
Success I tell you. I didn’t even trip the cry alarm.