As you know TinyPants has joined our house. Since she’s 5 weeks old, this is what I’m thinking about all the time:
I thought I was tired when FiestyPants woke up again and again with bad dreams. I thought I was tired when Sookie and Jack were little puppies who couldn’t make it through the night. Now…I have a better idea of what tired is–it’s drinking a Dr. Pepper to function and then dropping into sleep the minute you stop moving, even if you’re in the middle of the soda. It’s dreading looking at your phone when Tiny is squeaky for fear that its too close to time to get up for work. It’s taking Tylenol every day because your bones hurt from being so tired.
But then again, when its 1:47am, and I’m rocking Tiny somehow I don’t mind. She’s squeezable, snuggly, and sweet. And busting out of her newborn clothes–we’ll have to give her a better name once she’s flashing the outstanding personality I know she has…
It’s hard being a parent like this. With children you love so desperately and will leave you at any time. But then again, it’s wonderful.
Foster parenting, the oxymoron of horrible and wonderful combined. It’s a terrible sort of life. But most of the time, I don’t regret it a bit.