I have anxiety.
Shocking, I know.
I have anxiety all the time. The height of my anxiety these days is around sleep.
When Pep fights her naps, sleeps for 29 minutes only and dissolves into a super cranky baby, I get tense. And she gets tenser. And she doesn’t sleep. And then neither do I.
I spent one of these 29 minute naps the other perusing the internet and reading about hoards of other mothers who’s precious little bundles refuse to stay down for more than a catnap. I know that I am not alone here, and that is reassuring.
I came across a site that pointed out to me that if I disliked sleeptime, there was surely something I was doing wrong. What’s not to love? Babies in Pjs, story time, lullabies and rocking chairs.
So I stopped, and I thought about it.
And I thought about cuddling Pepper.
And I thought about rocking her to sleep.
And I thought about reading her poems from an old copy of The World of Christopher Robin.
And I thought about watching her eyes slowly droop.
And her head curl into my body.
And her breathing slow.
And the weight of her little self as she settles.
And I remembered an old post of mine in which I proclaimed ‘happiness by choice, not by chance.”
And I decided to relish the moments of happiness. To forget the times when I’d set her down and she’d wake crying, when she’d struggle in my arms, not wanting to sleep, when I’d have to set her in her crib and let her cry her overtired little heart out.
I’d rather think about those cuddles, those stories, those tiny, sleepy eyes, those drowsy little fingers curling themselves around my collar. Those bright eyed toothless little smiles when she wakes up.
“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.”