I posted this picture earlier today on instagram and everyone said, oh my gosh that is so sweet. And it is, obviously, mind-meltingly wonderful.
This is the real story of why they were both in our bed this morning.
Alright, listen. I’m going to share something horrifying. In fact, when I told this story to my sisters this morning, I swore they were the only people who would ever hear it. But perhaps there is someone out there who needs to know that they are not, in fact, the worst person ever at their job. Because I’m 3 weeks into this new job as a mom of two babies, and let me tell you:
I am the worst. Not you. Me. So rest easy.
Let’s start by recognizing the fact that I am tired. If you don’t have a newborn at home, or live with small children, I’m not sure how to describe the particular strain of exhaustion that I am currently operating under. I could tell you that my left eye has a permanent twitch, like tiny seizures from my eyelid trying to close on its own volition. I could tell you that I had a wicked case of mastitis this weekend, during which I may have actually died for a few hours on Sunday afternoon. I can’t be sure because I don’t recall any scenes from my short journey towards death, like golden streets or the face of God or anything. Which is really too bad, because that could have been a very lucrative book deal. I would have called it, “The Horney Side Of Heaven.” I would have made millions.
Anyways, I’m tired. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I actually am, until last night. I woke up around 4:00 a.m. to a squirming baby who wanted fed. I set him on the bed and got ready to change his diaper before he nursed. Sam got up to use the bathroom, and after he flipped on the light, I reached down for the stack of diapers beside my bed. I wasn’t quite lucid at this point, and did not register the fact that Clara was asleep on the floor. Not quite on the floor, though, because the top half of her body lay across the baby’s bouncy chair. Her hands were clasped sweetly under her cheek and her knees were tucked under the chair, like she was praying. I gasped out a what in the heck? Clara sleeps in her crib, in her nursery, and I had no idea how she got into our room. She can’t climb out of her crib; she can barely climb off our kitchen chairs. I turned to my husband, who was washing his hands in the bathroom.
“Sam. Did you bring her in here?”
He looked to where I was gesturing, at our toddler folded in half on the floor beside our bed.
“What in the world…No. I didn’t bring her in, you must have. Why did you put her in the bunny chair?”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t…I mean, I don’t remember bringing her in here. Like, at all.”
I remembered her crying for me at some point, because she is getting her molars and sometimes wakes up in pain. I remembered rocking her in the nursery. And that was it. That’s where my memory stopped. How did she get in our room? Why was she asleep in the baby’s bouncy chair? How long had she been there? Sam stepped out of the bathroom and scooped her up off the floor, staring at me sort of accusingly.
“You have no idea how this happened?”
I turned back to the baby to finish changing his diaper/to avoid Sam’s incredulous gaze. He settled Clara onto his side of the bed, her head sharing his pillow, I can only assume out of guilt and as a small protective measure against my sleepwalking parenting decisions. He went out to get a drink or something while I started nursing, and then came back a moment later.
“Why is there a dresser drawer on the couch?”
I bit my lip.
“Are you serious? There’s a drawer on the couch?”
Yes. There was. Not the contents of a drawer, mind you. No. A drawer full of swaddle blankets and tiny hats, pulled off its track and set down on the couch. This means two things:
1. At some point in the middle of the night, I either left my daughter somewhere in my house to find her way to our bedroom floor, or I thought she was the newborn and set her down in his bouncy chair to sleep.
2. I pulled an entire drawer out of the nursery dresser and carried it to the living room to leave on the couch.
Somewhere, someday, I hope someone reads this post and then shuts their laptop with a satisfied sigh, knowing deep in their heart that while they might be bad at life, I am worse.
Also, please don’t call child protective services. I will take a nap today, honest.