The morning after…

Sometimes…no, lots of times…I wish I lived in the time period I write in. Of course, I would have to be wealthy – that’s a given – but what would have been a definite given if I were a rich woman in 1820s England is that I would have had a night nurse for the baby. And a day nurse. Pretty much round-the-clock care for my little one should I need it. And frankly, this is a day I could definitely use it.

The saga started somewhere around 2am – it’s all kind of a blur, so forgive me if the times aren’t precise. We went through several bottles, diaper changes, rocking sessions, until finally around 4am, she decided she really just wanted to play. I let her down and she went running and laughing into our bedroom, where my husband was fast asleep and only an hour away from the alarm going off. I chased her back to her own room before she woke daddy up, we played for a half an hour while I waited for the drugs to kick in (sometimes it’s the only way!!), but it wasn’t until about 6am that we both finally got to go to sleep.

We got two whole honkin’ hours of sleep before she was up again, and now, at 12:30 in the afternoon, after eating and playing her way through the morning, she is flat-out refusing to sleep. I know it’s probably teeth…or a growth spurt…or both, but it leaves me wishing I had full-time, round-the-clock help so when things like this happen, I can just hand her off and go back to bed.

Alas, it’s not 1820, and I’m not uber rich. Our nanny only comes for 10 hours a week and, of course, that’s when the kid decides to take 2-3 hour naps. *sigh*

Wait…what’s that coming from her room??? Silence?? Ah, what a wonderful sound. And it means it’s time for me to get to work on my next manuscript!

Happy Thursday, everyone!

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