Love

Monkey's sleep schedule has sucked lately. She's been staying up late, waking up early, and - this is the hardest - waking in the middle of the night with much crying and fussing, gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair. Ok, everything except for the hair pulling.

Last night it was a midnight run. Monkey woke up and was inconsolable. Tylenol was administered, the paci was inserted, and the bottle was proffered when she asked for it specifically. (she only took two sips, but what can you do)

I was so tired I was limited to monosyllabic grunts and gutteral mutterings.

Monkey's daddy? He's the rock star of this story, my grey cloud's silver lining.

Once we settled Monkey back down again, we nestled into bed with Ollie, our geriatric cat (who also insists on performing vocal acrobatics at midnight). And after wishing me (another) good night, he gave me a kiss and said something about how we'd muddle our way through.

I was so tired I don't really even remember what he said. All I remember is feeling comforted, safe, loved and understood. My god, what else could an exhausted mother wish for in life? (other than a healthy, happy baby of course).

So this post is all about you, beloved husband. Whatever it was that you said? It was perfect. And I love you.