Please. Help me. S.O.S. Or whatever. Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. I'm exhausted. I have slept four hours total over the span of three days.
My child refuses to sleep. An hour here and there. And then, up at 5am. He wants to play. So I put him back to bed. I throw some toys in his crib and a few books and say goodnight. He throws his books at me. I stub my toe on the door trying to find my way back to our room. I get into bed. He starts to cry again. I put the pillow over my face. My toe's bleeding. I don't care. I get that jolty feeling in my belly when he cries. I try to ignore him. La-di-da-da-daaaaaa. But I can't.
"Go to sleep!" I say. "Pleaaaase."
I feel like I'm in prison:
Aspects of parenting are very similar to freelance writing. Writers are willing to
write for nothing so we always have a hard time asking for a raise.
Because the truth is, we'd be happy to do it all for free. As a parent,
I'm so in love with my kid that I'm willing to not sleep and get fat
and be a total mess because I love him. It's hard to negotiate when chances are he's gonna win. (Ed: Do you see the connection or am I unable to make sense in my present state?) To be honest, I'm too out of it to care.
About a year ago, I went through the same thing. But for whatever reason I had the stamina to fight it out. Have I since aged? Become lazy? Why am I such a disaster, now? Or maybe I was a disaster then, too. Who knows? At least I'm not putting little dude on Craigslist.
I'm getting dizzy. Hold on, while I sit down.
Okay, I'm back. Much better. More coffee. Yes. (Burp.) Now where was I...
Oh yeah... Save me.
This isn't a post. It is a plea. I'm in desperate need of some help. Some parental advice. Some empathy. Some something. Because I feel so cold. And so alone. And so-so tired.
Hurry. Before. It's. Too. Late.
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