|Don't trust this face. It's a ruse.|
You can hear it searing its way through the still Seattle evening air; a sound of such despair that you can only imagine the depths of pain from which it emanates. It's the crashing sound of innocence snatched away, the soul-crushing wail of unbearable suffering... or it's the ridiculous over-reaction of a three-month-old being made to go to bed.
Yep, I'm pretty sure it's that last one. And it's coming from my bedroom.
Let me tell you, this is some intense stuff right here. If you ever want to question every ounce of ability that you possess to parent, in particular your ability to successfully raise a child without damaging it in frustration, come over to my house around bedtime. Sure, she'll look happy while we're hanging out downstairs - like the happiest baby on the block, even - but if you make the mistake of mentioning how happy she is in public, or God forbid, blog about it, well... let's just say, I won't be doing that again.
She's always had a bit of a disagreement with bedtime, which we just chalked up to her not wanting to miss anything, but if that's the case, she REALLY doesn't want to miss anything these days. It used to be that if she got into a crying jag, you could just wait her out. Not anymore. She's getting bigger, stronger and her aural attack endurance has greatly improved. In fact, I'm pretty sure I heard her first words somewhere in tonight's session. I can't be sure, but I'm relatively certain that I heard a bunch of "F" words, followed by what I swear was a very clear "YOU". But maybe I'm just being over eager here.
This is a trying time not just for those of us tasked with putting her to sleep, but also to Finn. He's probably not taking as many deep breaths as we try to simultaneously rock a baby and go to our happy place, but all of this wailing is definitely subverting his cultivated air of aggressive ambivalence toward his sister. I can only image how difficult it must be for him to acknowledge her existence.
|All parties collapsed from exhaustion.|
Thank goodness, Kitty turned me on to earplugs - aka, the Drunk Husband Snore Blockers (tm). They really come in handy during bed time. They don't exactly block the sound, but they sure take the edge off. Kind of like whiskey, but for your bleeding ear-holes. You're able to get past the thoughts of throwing the screaming baby out of the window and just think about possibly jumping out the window yourself. Which is better, I suppose.
But if Finn's marathon newborn three-hour bedtime screamathons taught us anything, it's that this will soon pass. Unfortunately, Edie's not the only angry one around the house these days. Having spent the last four months in Denial, Kitty is fast-forwarding through the remaining four stages of Returning-to-Work-Grief simultaneously. She's Angrily Bargaining with Depression. I value both my marriage and my life very highly, so I'm not going to say anything here other than "I will happily support her however I possibly can through this time."
Now where are those earplugs?