There are nights with a wee one and then there are nights. Last night happened to be one of the latter. It started off well and good. With WM in Cincy on business, Channing had a sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa Flynn, leaving Sophie and I to our mother/daughter time.
Nestled into the Boppy on the living room floor, Sophie worked hard on strengthening her right eye and practiced grabbing the edge of her burp cloth and quilt. She would doze fitfully, wake, work and go right back to sleep. In her waking moments, concentration was written all over her face. She'd stare intently at her bugs until finally one little hand would make its way into the air, sometimes making contact with a bee or dragonfly. I cheered her on from my corner of the couch, all the while addressing envelopes for our holiday greeting card.
Hand cramped and shriveled from endless writing but envelopes ready to go, we made several trips upstairs to the bedroom. The nest needed to be feathered just so to ensure optimal conditions for a restful night. The breast pump was primed a ready to go, bottles lined up on a clean towel on the bathroom counter. The feeding pump was hung from the headboard, just above a strategically placed Boppy. Without much effort, I'd be able to rest a hand on a weary babe offering comfort during the restless periods that creep in with the darkness and cold of the night.
We settled in with warm beverages, spiced cider for me and warm milk for her. Part way through last week's episode of Grey's Anatomy, Old Man Reflux reared his ugly head. What started as a quiet rumble crescendoed into a gurgling roar as a wave of spit up wiped out burp cloths number one and two and the first pair of PJs.
By morning, PJs had been abandoned. A mountain of laundry had amassed in the green chair, sticky with milk and spit and mucus. The Boppy, slightly damp, had a funky and sour odor to it. The sheets had met their match too. A diaper had leaked somewhere around 5 am leaving a nice yellow ring next to the magenta smear of Prevacid mixed with stomach juice.
Yes, it was one of those nights. It wasn't the first. It most certainly won't be the last. As I picked my little girl up from the chaos and the noise, I found myself laughing. By this point, what else could I do? A familiar tune popped into my head. Laughter gave way to singing as a little one was bathed, washing away the stickiness and greeting the day anew. It's a brand new day. The sun is shining. It's a brand new day. For the first time, in such a long, long time, I know I'll be OK. (Lyrics courtesy of Joshua Radin's Brand New Day)