When I was six, I thought I'd die before willingly uttering these words, but my sister was right. The third day is magic. And not just in Celtic lore. It applies to babies, too.
Today was good. Is a good thing. Am so tired.
Last night was a nightmare, both literally and figuratively. Grace woke up probably six times after screaming and screaming and screaming (I told you about that part already). She put herself back to sleep almost every time within a minute or two, but I still woke up. Two of those times I ended up just feeding her. 3:00 and 6:00. I'd forgotten what that felt like.
OH CRAP. She just woke up. She's been asleep for almost an hour, which may mean she's well-rested enough to really stay awake for a while. I guess we'll see.
I think she's back asleep now. Who knows.
Anyway, I had horrible nightmares last night. I like the occasional nightmare. They're exciting. But I had them all night last night. So, screaming baby, constant nightmares, what do I have to be upset about?
I know this will be over soon. I'm going to write a real entry when I'm not on the verge of running away with the circus again.
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