My eyes snap open again in the heavy dark. It is 3:00AM. Something like the 14th consecutive 3:00AM I’ve seen blinking back red at me in the blackness of my room. My feet find the floor without my knowledge and I stumble toward the whimpering cry.
It’s been two weeks of this. The sweet babe is not sleeping at night. 9:00. 11:00. 1:00. 3:00. 5:00…
Rest cut up into two hour pieces is no rest at all. It is a messy, violent thing that lingers and clings to the bones all the waking hours.
I feel worn thin, almost transparent.
Teeny tiny baby manipulation?
Whatever it is, it drains.
I would let the cries ring- I have no qualms against such things, but there are the others in this household that need their sleep much more than I. There are growing boys and a hard-laboring husband. These walls so close together muffle nothing. The hallway becomes a trumpet and I lunge to silence the blast.
The time-tested mother in me knows that this is only a short season… one brushstroke on the beautiful sprawling canvas, but the physical body knows nothing of seasons or brushstrokes. It knows only the weary now and it slowly grinds to a halt.
I brew more coffee.
Apply more concealer.
Pray in deep breaths,
And push through.