It’s 6:38 a.m. and Andrew just went to sleep. He’s fallen asleep numerous times tonight
wait. He’s awake again.
I can’t go get him, I really can’t. A few minutes ago I put him in his swing, against his wishes, because I just couldn’t take it anymore. We’ve been crying together off and on all night because every time you put him down, he wakes up screaming immediately. I don’t know what happened to my happy baby, but I need him back. I’ve slept for one hour in the last 24 and that’s just not going to cut it my friends.
To top it off, I’m pretty sure we have thrush. This means that when he feeds–and even when he doesn’t–my boobs feel like they’re being sliced with razor blades. It’s a pain I can’t really describe except to say it’s excruciating and I understand now why the primary result of thrush is “premature weaning.” Did I mention all he wants to do tonight is eat? That’s right. There has not been a time longer than 45 minutes since 11 pm that he hasn’t demanded to eat.
I have to get him now before he gives himself an aneurysm.