My sweet little baby is not a good sleeper. THAT is an understatement, actually. She has had good bouts of sleep, to be fair, but the norm is bad, bad, bad. Add to the fact that I am no longer a spring-chicken-mommy, and the result is one exhausted mammamilk.
Take, for example, last night. Little K was up at 12:20 to nurse ( a mere hour and a half after I went to sleep). I dragged myself to her room, fed her and put her back down. I slept blissfully until 5:00, when she woke again. At 6:00 I was soothing her again, giving up all hope of any more rest. She finally seemed quiet, so I curled up in bed at 6:15, hoping for 15 more minutes. Almost immediately, I heard wailing from the boys' room. I mumbled under my breath as I schlepped into their room. My 3 year old was crying, saying, "I don't want Spiderman to get his hair cut!".
This is a recurring problem - I have blogged about it before (you can read it here). Maybe if I had a little more rest, I wouldn't repeat myself.
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