In Through the Nose, Out Through the Mouth

I'm cranky, stressed and disappointed.  All at the same time. 

How's that for a follow-up to Perfection?

I'm cranky because Ruby STILL is not sleeping through the night.  For no reason whatsoever.  She's waking two to three times a night just so I can walk into her room, saying nothing while laying her screaming head back onto the mattress only to turn around and leave.  She cries just long enough as she maneuvers Bunny-Bunny's bow back into her mouth before quickly falling back to sleep. 

Letting her cry it out doesn't work because The Huz will either (A) ignore her entirely and return to snoring or (B) go into her room, pick her up, and rock her back to sleep.  So instead I run in, two to three times a night, to lay her back down. 

When I brought it up to The Huz tonight that, "Hey!  Remember that email I sent you underway that explained how I was going to try to let her cry it out and if you'd jump on the same train with me THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS!"  That attempted, Lets Work This Out, conversation went over like lead weight over a cliff because, "Pfft... Fine.  Whatever.  You yell at me when I go in there, you yell at me when I don't." 

He's right.  For only a millimeter.  I've asked him to, you know, HELP OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE.  To which, he has.  All of thrice.  Twice he rocked her back to sleep.  The third time he plucked her out of her crib and was on his way to shower with her.  {She loves the shower.  You wash.  She plays.  Win-win.  Except..} It was 5:30 in the morning.  What was his plan after the shower?  After he's left for work...? 

Exactly.

There has been another couple of occasions in which he rolled over and said, "Want me to go get her?"  I replied, "No.  See if she'll cry it out."  And then he rolls over and starts snoring, leaving me to do the dirty work.  Alone.  Again.  Because clearly I am the only one who can try to wait these things out even when we both know it. will. fail.  She cries.  He snores.  I pray. 

Usually for the strength NOT to smother my husband because I truly do love the motherfucker.

I'm stressed because we're moving in about a month.  We're moving to somewhere we've yet to live and comes with nothing but glorious compliments to describe the place. 

The fact that we're moving, though.  Ugh.

Now I'm purging, organizing, rethinking and reorganizing again.  The worst thing, for me, is to have the movers come in and be all, What the fuck is wrong with these disorganized hoarders? 

In all of our moves, none of them have actually ever said those words to me, but that doesn't take away my fear that one day they will.  Until then, I purge what we haven't used, organize what we do use and then head to the kitchen to cook the shit out of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards.  The less food we have to move, the better. 

Purge.  Organize.  Rethink.  Reorganize.  Cook.  Stress.

Who wants to take a peek in my head?

I'm disappointed because Jeremy FINALLY had some leave time approved to dance off to The Land of the CornHusker to baptize our third Godson... and this move has put the very quick kibosh on that idea.  We pick up the keys to our new house in the middle of what was going to be our trip.  If we turned the house down, we didn't know when a new unit would open up.  Since we accepted the house, we can't take leave. 

Sigh.

I desperately want to hold the new baby.  Coo and cuddle and fawn over another sweet being in this world.  I want to bat my eyelashes at Jeremy and playfully wish for another one.  But, as of tonight, that doesn't look like it's going to happen until 2014.  And that disappoints me.  A lot.

I miss my best friend.  I miss being there to fuss over her, cook her meals, vacuum her floors and help tend to her kids when she's fresh from the hospital.  She may not need me.  She may be able to do it all on her own.  But someone needs to look her square in the eyes and tell her she's insane for taking a newborn to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and really, wholeheartedly mean it. 

She has a Mama who comes to help out.  But I've met her Mama.  She's a very lovely and sweet woman who is just too nice.  I've never once seen an ounce of mean in that woman.  She might very well be a Saint, I'm convinced. 

Its hard for me to wag my finger over the phone, trying to tell her to sit her ass down she has a husband MAKE HIM DO IT! Its hard for me to know she has five birds in her nest who all need a home cooked meal and that's right up my alley and WHY DID YOU MOVE SO FAR AWAY?  Its hard for me to know that my only talent in life is cooking for families and caring for children in times of need and I can't be there to do either one.

My best friend finds and sends perfect gifts from afar to let you know she's thinking of you. Or your kids.  And, frankly, my vacuum cord doesn't reach that far to let her know I'm here for her, I'm thinking of her. 

I'm disappointed I can't be there with her.  For her.

Life is good.  But I'm still cranky, stressed and disappointed.  I'm sure once the move is finished, I'll level out again.  We'll be back to a waking toddler and trying to plan another leave schedule and I'll quit snapping at my husband and kids.  Until then...

Breathe.  Just breathe.