Last night was rough.
You woke up every two hours, always in a fit of anger. I was perplexed. We haven’t really had straight nights of sleep, but it’s been a while since you were this difficult. Nothing I could do could comfort you. Boob? Not interested. Rocking on my chest? Not interested. Getting carried in a vertical position? Yes, ok, that works, but when I tried to put you back in your crib, all hell broke loose again.
I was tired, love. I just wanted to sleep. My arms were hurting from having to hold you vertically for what felt like hours. I also wanted to shut you up so that your Heit (*daddy) — who came home at 2am tired AF after a late-night Airbnb tenant check-in — can sleep. And did I say I was tired?
And so… I may have said things. To your little red angry face. I called you difficult and annoying. I said, verbatim, to all 31 chubby inches of you, “stop being a spoiled brat.”
Finally, you drifted off to sleep around 4:30am. I laid you on your crib and tiptoed out of your bedroom. You wailed again and I waited a while before checking in, and then you drifted off to sleep. “Little monster”, your Heit and I mumbled to each other, making groggy promises to encourage you to be more independent and less attention-hungry.
At 7am, you woke up for the morning. I half-asleep carried you downstairs to Leizl so I can get more sleep in. At 10am (thank God for Labor Day) I lumbered down for coffee. That was when Leizl sprung her news.
It turns out that this morning after I brought you down, she thought you were heavier than normal. She opened your diaper, and what do you know? It was full of poop. Humongous, sticky, stinky C-R-A-P. We had gotten so used to your pooping habits (daytime only, and with warning so we know to perch you in your little bowl), that it didn’t even occur to me to check your diapers for blowouts.
You must have been trying to push it out all night, and it might have already been in your diapers while I was busy being angry with you.
You must have been trying so desperately to tell me how uncomfortable you were, and I was busy calling you a spoiled brat.
I was so focused on my own feelings, I failed to consider yours. I was so focused on how last night was rough on me, I forgot to consider how it could also be rough on you.
I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry for the things I said, and for the things I thought about you. I want you to know that I’m learning, day by day. Every FAIL moment, a reminder to do better. Every parenting mistake, a lesson for the future.
And, on the upside, messy shitty lessons stick around the longest.