Making time for me is hard.
Making time for you is hard.
Making time for anything other than boob and baby is hard.
I mean, as I sit here and type this... my magnificent nails are clickety clicking off the keys because they've had all this time to grow and not be nubbed down by blogging and keyboard. You have to rearrange your survival program every week. It's like you have to bake an entirely new pie and divvy up all the slices completely differently every time you need to do something.
Last week's pie was consumed by Nugget's vaccines and a make-up shower party sip and see thing--both of which took incredible mental and physical preparation. Every morning of the week I was up by five preparing one thing or another--one pie for organizing, one pie for cleaning, one pie for moving furniture, one pie for time with her Dad, one pie for shopping for supplies, one pie for research...
A lot of pies.
It's really easy to neglect the pie for me.
The one that brushes her teeth... once a day if she's blessed, every other day if she's lucky... and when the teeth sweaters start to rub together if she can. That sweet self-care pie that showers, shaves, makeups, eats, socializes, creates, and sleeps.
It's a mythical pie. Doesn't exist. Yet.
Still working on the recipe.
I think it involves asking for help and sharing--both of which I'm terrible at when it comes to most things, especially Nugget.
She has recently allowed me to sleep in longer increments because we've begun co-sleeping. I haven't given up on the crib by any means. I don't want her sleeping in my bed when she's older than a couple months (fingers crossed), but it sure beats sleeping sitting up... or in a chair.
Sidenote: I'm done shaming myself for co-sleeping. People act like parents who co-sleep want to murder their babies in the bed, like we don't understand the risks, like we're doing everything all wrong.
To that, I kindly say--fuck off.
Thanks but no thanks.
Not sorry, not sorry.
Worry about something else for the sake of humankind and leave us to rest, thankyouverymuch.
We sleep from about 10pm to 6am, waking up twice to feed and handle her night shits. I've begun dreaming again... which is nice and also awful.
I guess it's good because it means I'm getting deeper sleep, but it also means my subconscious has presented it's own pie.
I dream that he and I are still together, but usually down the dreamland narrative twist he abandons me, betrays me, ignores me--basically breaks my heart again. It repeats literally like a broken record and feels eerily similar to real life except for the sensation of knowing/expecting the outcome of sadness. If that makes sense? My dream self knew this pie was coming... and seems to want to say 'I told you so.' Almost every night and nap he makes an appearance, casually showing up and curving the content of whatever might be happening to dramatic feelings not to be ignored. This pie tastes like shit and leaves my eyes wet and mouth dry when I wake up.
I don't know how to stop it.
I guess it will stop itself in time.
I live and breathe for this baby. I sacrifice my comfort for her happiness. I do it all day, all night, all the time. Dream time and sleeping is the very last thing of my own and I.... I just.... wish it could really be all mine. I wish it would protect me. I wish my subconscious would cast him the fuck out and be somewhere I can dream about flying and sex again. Sans him. For good.
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.
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