Internal Dialog

Last night between the hours of midnight and 3am, Olivia tossed and turned and fussed and cried.

We moms, we know the difference between a hurt cry, a sick cry and a mad cry.

O’s cries were mostly mad, though, admittedly there were couple in there that were hurt, as in hurt feelings not hurting butt because I’d spanked her.

No, I never actually did that. Honestly, it never crossed my mind to spank her. So I have that going for me, I guess.

But I was tired. Last night was the fourth night since Olivia’s arm/shoulder/wing were hurt. And so, in the previous three nights, she got used to having me next to her to soothe her cries of physical pain (again not from spanking but from her rolling wrong and hurting her wing all over again.)

She liked having me next to her, to rub her hair back from her face and snuggle her back to sleep. Alas, doing all that was not doing much for my rest.

And we all know I turn into a raving bitch when sleep deprived. Well, that and I eat. I eat to stay awake and then I hate myself because I eat junk that is so bad for me and I feel like crap and I’m not only full of food that has negative nutritional value but I’m also wallowing in a pit of self-hatred.

Yeah.

So girlfriend needs to let Mama sleep, is what I’m saying.

But last night was not to be the night. She woke up at midnight and cried out because I was not lying next to her in the twin bed she’s taken over. I stumbled to her side, gently laid her back down, mindful of her injury and laid next to her, slipping back into sleep almost immediately.

A while later, I rolled to my side, which meant my back was to her.

She whimpered.

My sleepiness was slowly being replaced by a seething anger.

I rolled back and asked in a whimper what was wrong. She took hold of my arm and moved it beneath her head. Did you read that? She moved my arm and put it beneath her head. She was awake enough and aware enough to know exactly how she wanted to be comforted.

Ugh! But I let it go. I laid there for a bit, hoping she’d fall asleep quickly and I could either escape to the other bed again or just move my arm and roll over.

Oh no. She moved, she wiggled, she tossed and turned. She jammed her knees into my side and dug her curly little head into my arm.

I was losing my mind. I was so flipping tired of being touched by that point that every single move she made irritated my already frayed nerves.

My internal dialog was already going a mile a minute. I told myself to be patient, she’d go to sleep soon. My mean self, let’s call her Jean said Olivia was playing me for the fool I am and that she was never, ever going to sleep and this was one of the levels of hell.

My sweet self reminded Jean that Olivia is only five years old. She’s hurt. She wants her mommy.

Jean didn’t care. Jean was tired and wanted to go to sleep and not be touched anymore.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore (Jean won) and rolled away from O again. This time, she didn’t bother with the whimper. She wailed as if being presented with my back was causing her intense agony.

She sobbed and sniffled and rubbed at her eyes.

Jean told me to just lay there. The kind part of me told me to roll over and comfort Olivia, that tomorrow I’d hate myself if I didn’t. That I was being a horrible mom for letting her cry like that.

Again, Jean didn’t care. Jean said we all needed to just go to sleep.

But we couldn’t.

I got O a tissue, rolled back toward her but kept my arm from beneath her head, telling her that it was hurting me to lay that way. I brushed the hair from her face and kissed her tear-stained cheeks. I told I was sorry I was being mean but that I was so, so tired. I begged her to go to sleep.

Jean decided I was a hopeless sap and refused to speak to me the rest of the night. I was grateful that someone was ignoring me.