I'm tired. Last night, Kerrington cried in ways that she hasn't cried in a long time -- cries reminiscent of a newborn, cries that never seemed to fully stop but only temporarily to simmer, cries that interrupted our sleep enough that I felt more tired upon waking than upon going to bed.
She's cutting three molars. The poor child.
Although I'm a person who never drinks coffee and generally has sworn off all caffeine, today I downed 20 fluid ounces of Wild Cherry Pepsi by nine in the morning. I would have taken it through an IV if available.
It's made me wonder how I ever survived the newborn phase. How did I ever survive the newborn phase three separate times?
Somehow, I did. Somehow mothers of newborns learn how to function on erratic sleep while perpetually smelling a little like spit-up milk, writing thank you notes, and smiling for pictures. They make it through hour by hour, and when they finally catch their breath -- perhaps months, perhaps years later -- they might look back and think, "How did I make it through that?"
This is oddly comforting. One day -- years from now -- I likely will look back and wonder, "How did Joel and I juggle our work schedules for the eight years that we had preschoolers without ever using daycare? How did I push my grading to the late hours of the night so I could be with the girls during the day? How did we make it through?"
And then I'll remember, "One day at a time, with God's grace."
Which is good, and probably will be comforting, because by that point my dear sweet baby, toddler, and first-grader will have morphed into tweens and a teenager, and I may desperately be chugging Wild Cherry Pepsi while they're in the throes of all-things-awkward-and-angsty and wondering how we're all going to make it through.