I've been walking a very fine line of "just about to lose slight control on the grips of my sanity" and "convulsing on the floor in a Tony Soprano x 12 panic attack."
If you haven't figured it out yet, I have pretty decent coping skills.
But they are waning.
And I am slowly fading.
Putting her down for naps everyday and bedtime every night. Reading the same three Maisy stories two times a day. Feeding her almost every meal - or at least preparing it so they can attempt to do it for me. Struggling for a good 30 seconds to get my large pregnant body off the bathroom floor after her bath. Having to sit and put my large swollen lower legs up after only 1-2 hours of being on them.
And them. Yeah. Those people.
I'm just about to lose it.
But just when I thought I might climb out the window and attempt to hide on the roof, my daughter, my sweet sweet daughter FINALLY (for the first time EVER) decided that she did not need me to lay with her for 20-30 minutes while she fell asleep to take her nap.
No crying. No pleading. No throwing things at the door. No screaming bloody murder.
Just her in there reading alone for 2 hours until I finally offered her a big enough piece of candy post nap for her just to lay her little head down without mine next to it.
At least someone knows what I need.
Thank you sweetie. Thank you.
*We're trying bedtime too. Apparently, I have to talk to Santa and tell him she wants two dollhouses (that would be two more than I'd like in my home, however...). And a ghost marshmallow candy. Except it's now almost 11pm. And while she's not crying, she is reading books in the dark. Still. And playing with the fancy baby monitor that plays music.
That she knows how to work apparently.
Guess we'll have to start bedtime at around 6pm so she's asleep by 8pm.
I can handle that.
Progress. Thank God for progress.