Fighting Fatigue

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

My husband looked at me from across the dinner table with the most exhausted face I've ever seen and asked me, "Are we always going to be tired?"
Yes. Yes, we are always going to be tired.
The last few months for us have been a whirlwind. We've been house hunting in the little spare time we have, staying up late with Lucca struggling to find ways to get him to go back to sleep, working the daily grind everyday and fighting to find time to stay awake when the workday is finished.
The good news: we found a house. Finally. This has been the longest, most drawn out experience-- one we began before we even got married. We put that on hold for the wedding. Fast forward two years, we begin the search again while I'm REALLY pregnant. We never found what we were looking for, I desperately needed to "nest" somewhere, anywhere, and at 8 months pregnant we moved into another rental. Two years later, we started our (very narrowed down) search once again, and finally found our home.
I was so happy to FINALLY not have to be up late waiting for the newest listings to pop up, to bring Lucca along to showings during the most inopportune times (i.e.: lunchtime, nap time, dinner time) and to think about spending yet another year renting. We put in offers on two other houses which didn't pan out, but we felt like third time was a charm. I took it as a good sign when Lucca actually broke one of the homeowner's decorations--like "Heyy! We're home! Let's break shit!" Our offer was accepted and now, three weeks before Christmas, we're frantically packing up our house for our big move.
Our house is currently in shambles right now--there is crap everywhere, Lucca has limited toys to play with, and the boxes are piling up. The only time to pack is when Lucca is sleeping, either napping or at bedtime, so the packing process is slow-moving. I don't know what's worse--packing and moving while 8 months pregnant or packing and moving with a two-year-old. It's a toss-up.
The other good news: Lucca kind of sleeps through the night again. It's funny to look back and replay all the things we've done to try and get this kid to sleep in his bed. I'm all about the cry-it-out deal, but that doesn't exactly work with a toddler. The screams and hellacious sounds coming from that child at 2 a.m. was enough for my neighbors to ask me if everything was OK in our house. We were so exhausted we let him sleep in the bed--and I slept in the guest bedroom. 
Greg and I took turns rocking him, putting him back to bed, only to be awoken to screams and cries minutes later. We patted his back until we practically fell asleep ourselves over the side of his crib railing. We slept in his rocking chair to let him know we were still there. We slept on the floor. We bought a night light toy. Slowly, and slowly we convinced him to lay down and go back to sleep himself. And today, he has certain requests: Door stays open, pat his back, books in his bed, light on in the hallway. Whatever works, kid. Just please for the love of God shut your eyelids.

Don't get me wrong, I love these chaotic days of toddlerhood and listening to all the ridiculous things my son tells me- "I'm sorry Mommy. I can't give you a hug right now. I have a muffin in my hand." But I ache for sleep something so fierce... and I'd really like to keep my eyeballs open enough to have a conversation with my husband after 6 p.m.

So we push on through this crazy time in our life with eyes half-open and walking around like zombies. Packing up and moving on to the next chapter. Maybe sleep will be in our future, maybe it won't. But for now, yes, we will always be tired...but at least we'll be tired together.

No comments:

Post a Comment