I don't get like this often, because I have a lot of help, and they bring me tea in bed most mornings, and what more does anyone need?
But I am suffering from a major case of housewife fatigue.
Cole is laid up (and has been all week, in spite of attempting to rise to the occasion to visit with Ivy and Jack) with post-wisdom-tooth-extraction pain that is looking like it has morphed into something more complicated, possibly infection. Cole lackadaisically informed me that the folks at the dentist's office said they could maybe see her sometime on Wednesday. Hello? I'm supposed to suffer through her suffering for 48 more hours? I think not.
Then Aunt Nancy informed me that some kid died in Washington last week of a tooth infection that spread to the blood or the brain or something truly nightmarish and by the time Cole slumped in from work, moaning and begging for ice cream, I had the phone all ready. I gave her an ultimatum to get an appointment first thing in the morning or we were headed to the ER.
So she has an appointment first thing in the morning.
Nat is suddenly alternating maddeningly between worshipful adoration of me and yelling defiance. Lately it's been mostly defiance. Tonight, after dinner, she and I were having our nightly cuddle time, while "washin-a-noos" which Nat normally loves. (How many toddlers do you know who run around yelling with glee, "yea! watch the news! yea news! yea news!"?)
But tonight, she turned from Jim Leher's kindly yet authoritative face and demanded of me "mo' pizza!" (we did not have pizza for dinner and in fact, there is no pizza in the house).
"We don't have any pizza, Nat" I told her.
Her face turned cloudy, then stormy then downright dangerous, as she shouted "Pizza! Have it! Have it! Have pizza! Mo' pizza!" in the angriest, most insistent tone she could muster.
No matter how I told her there was simply no pizza to be had, she continued to not just badger me, but pummel me with her loud demands for it.
I offered her a glass of water.
She was really insulted.
I suggested she go find Baker, the Dog, with whom she is beginning to form a special relationship, and bring him back to watch the news with us.
She jumped down off my lap, disappeared into her room, came back with Baker in hand, climbed back up in my lap and informed me that "Baker Dog crying!" so we spent a lot of time comforting Baker, which is how I discovered that he smelled like pee.
Off he went into the wash which meant she had to go to bed with a zebra instead and it took me three rock-and-sing sessions before she'd settle down. (Usually I rock and sing, sign "I love you" and blow her a kiss from the door. She signs and blows back, puts her hands behind her head and snuggles down for the next 11-12 hours. So yes, I'm spoiled, but the point is, she's really not herself.)
I haven't really slept in days and days and days. Last week (and for three weeks prior) Nat was finally getting her two-year molars and was waking anywhere from 1-5 times a night. A brief pat and "it's night time, go back to sleep" was all she ever needed, but it meant I was being awakened after finally falling asleep and then laying awake trying again, finally drifting off again and then being awakened. Gah!
And how is it that the second I clear the kitchen of dirty dishes and turn my back, all the counters are covered with dirty dishes again? And wadded up paper napkins? And empty ice cream cartons?
So, housewife fatigue.
And I am supposed to be prepping to teach on Wednesday, but I'm so sleep deprived I have no idea what I am reading and find myself re-reading the same paragraph repeatedly to figure it out. And I've read this book twice before.
I tried to nap today during a couple of hours of teaching-prep babysitting, but to no avail. Fell asleep in the last ten minutes and had to wake up all groggy and fix dinner so that I could clean the kitchen only to have it messed up again when I blinked.