Confessing

Today is a pretty good day-- one of a few I could count on my fingers this month.  I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and I suspect that I might have a little postpartum depression.  I prefer to call it baby blues.  My days are roller-coaster rides of ecstatic joy as my little girl smiles at me in the morning and deep frustration and guilt as she cries all afternoon and evening until midnight when she's too exhausted to protest a nap and finally falls asleep.  We're trying to establish a routine, but I can't seem to stay home long enough to give her the predictability she needs to learn how to fall asleep on her own.  Today things went well and when I put her down for her naps I only had to return to her room a couple times before she quit fussing and fell asleep.  But tomorrow there's that darn doctors appointment that is going to throw off her routine.  She's what The Baby Whisperer author, Tracy Hogg, calls a touchy baby.  She gets overstimulated and overtired very easily  When that takes place getting her to sleep is nearly impossible, and because she's so exhausted she just cries and cries.

I been afraid to admit my baby blues because I thought if I denied it long enough it wouldn't be so.  I've also resisted telling anyone about this touchy baby.  I suppose I have some fears that people won't love her if they knew how difficult she can be.  When people at church see me they smile really big and say, "Oh! She's beautiful!  Is she a good baby?  I bet she's a sweetheart."  And she is. . . sometimes.  And I love her like crazy.  Her forehead is pealing and I've been wondering why until yesterday when I kissed her and ended up with snowy skin flakes stuck to my chapsticked lips.  Perhaps I've kissed the skin off her forehead.  I just can't help it though.  I'm crazy about her, and she drives me crazy, and I worry if people knew her fiery little nature they wouldn't want us around.  Especially in the evenings when she cries the most.  It's all very irrational.  But finally admitting this has been very cathartic and liberating.

It's okay that I'm not perfect right now.  It's okay that I'm a little broken because I can heal.  It's okay that my daughter is who she is because even though I see a lot of this:

I see a lot of this too:

And this:

 

And this:

And this:

 

And this:

 And this:

 

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And other people really don't care so much about her sleeping habits because they don't have to put her to bed.  I'm going to stop worrying now and make myself a sandwich before she wakes up.