little black journal

Ten days ago, I was writing Juliette’s two-month entry in her baby book, gushing about how happy she was, how well she’d been sleeping, how she had rounded a corner with her car seat aversion.

And then Friday happened.  Major car seat meltdown.  There and back.

And then Saturday happened.  Hour-long inconsolable wail-fest while I was at the movies with some friends.  Poor Shane was wild-eyed and exhausted by the time I got home (you know it’s a bad scene when I walk in the door and he’s wearing his noise-canceling headphones while holding the baby).

And then Sunday morning happened.  Juliette decided at 3:15 a.m. that 7 hours of sleep was really enough and that she was ready to start her day.  Shane and I took turns rocking and bouncing and shushing her for two hours, while she just gazed up at us with her wide open eyes, as if we were engaged in the cruelest staring contest of all time.

I try to take these bumps in stride, knowing that she can’t cry forever, that she’ll eventually fall asleep, that our sweet, smiling girl is in there somewhere, but man, sometimes it’s tough to roll with the punches.  Life is so unpredictable these days.  I go to bed each night not knowing if I’ll need to wake up in two hours or six hours.  We have eaten many a cold meal, miscalculating bedtime and leaving our dinner to sit on the counter while we try to get the baby to sleep.  Every time we get in the car, I feel this little pulse of anxiety, wondering if we’re in for a pleasant family drive or a white-knuckled race to our destination.  I knew that parenting would require me to relinquish control of our quiet, self-indulgent lifestyle, but gaaaah!  This crazy-haired little girl is really going head-to-head with my inner control freak.  And guess who’s winning?