I Like Ike

Perhaps it was my mommy Spidey Sense a-tingling or maybe it was waking up to the wee chubby hand repeatedly hammer-fisting my good eye, but as I lay in bed receiving a judicious beatdown from a screaming baby I got the sense that today might not be a good one.

My policy is that if Maggie wakes up between 6-7am I’ll take her into bed with me. A little cuddle time usually equals another hour of sleep for us both. Maggie was not having it and physically launched herself at my chest, grabbing at what there was to be had and nearly chewing my arm off as I tried to maneuver her into a new position. She then flung herself backwards and screamed and stamped her feet while I tried to get us both into a comfortable spot. I goggled at her in confusion (really, before Mommy’s Wakeup Juice?) but tried to accommodate while whispering the words I repeat a thousand times a day: “Touch gently, please. Touch gently. GENTLE HANDS OWOWOWOW LET GO!”

Around 9am the drool and fresh red weals left on my arms and legs from her biting indicated that she may need something to relieve the teething pain, so out came the infant ibuprofen. Breakfast passed without incident, and she was down for a nap at 10:15. By 10:45, she was awake and crying. That’s roughly an hour shorter than her nap really needs to be for Optimal Maggie Freshness.

About twenty minutes ago after half an hour of trying to claw my face off, an hour of sobbing while bundled in the Moby wrap, and her razors drawing blood while trying to nurse her for comfort I decided Nap #2 was in order. She’s sleeping now. Since I wouldn’t dream of canceling on my hairdresser (my split ends have split ends) we’ll see how she does at 2:30 when we go for the appointment. I’m hoping to get her to rest until 1:30 or so.

Guys, I look like I live with Ike Turner. I’m covered with bruises from grabby pinchy fingers, bite marks, and long raw scratches. Maggie doesn’t mean to hurt, she really doesn’t know her own strength (there I go enabling my abuser) but it’s going to be a while before my patient modeling of “gentle hands” really kicks in. In the meantime I look like a punching bag and she stares at me with the wild Manson lamps of total teething insanity.

I rarely do this, but I might leave her with Tom tonight and sit at the bar at Just Tacos by myself, eat a huge burrito and have a Dos Equiis in silence.

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