We're in a fight

Isabelle and me....or is it Isabelle and I??

We're playing chicken. Who's going to budge first? I'm going to say Isabelle because she - after all - is just a baby.

I'm trying not to be angry at her. Isn't that awful? There have been moments the past few days where I look at my screaming child and wonder - WTH?

She's anti-sleep. She thinks she's a rock star and can stay up all hours of the night with no need to nap during the day.

She's probably teething or going through a growth spurt. Those are my two fall backs when I have no freaking idea what's wrong with her and she's extra fussy - I tell people "oh she's teething...oh she's going through one of those growth spurts." So pretty much she's been teething and going through this dang growth spurt for 3 months and 4 days.

So - I'm mad at a 3 month old baby. I know that her cries and her fussy, fussy, fussy, sounds are the only way she can communicate with me. I get it. But when you're in the trenches, suffocating, and are at the end of your rope - you don't want to deal. Never in a bagillion years did I ever think I would have to walk away from her. But I did. For her sake and mine. I put her in swing, red faced, open mouthed screaming, tears falling, arms a flailing, legs kicking...and this is the house that Jack built...

I walked away. Made sure she was still gasping every now and then...here again - the oxygen thing - very important. I walked away, sat down at the kitchen table, took a giant marshmallow, dipped it into Nutella, ate the Nutella covered marshmallow, traveled up to Heaven for a split second...wiped my mouth, washed my hands...ok she moved from the gigantic gulp crying to the short - "hee hee huh" cry...and shoved a handful of M&M's in my mouth....

Five sugar filled minutes later - I picked up the splotchy, tear stained baby.

I tell her I love her - and I do. I really, really do. I just sometimes don't love the person I become when she has her bad days. I find myself reminiscing about days of old - when silence was the only sound in my house...oh sweet silence.

Then, I remember that the days of old again...when I would pray for a Baby H. and wanted nothing more than to have a bundle of joy in my arms. Then - I wonder what my days would be like without the sounds of her coos, without the sounds of her laughter, without the sounds of her cries - her cries that mean that she's living and breathing and needing me....

I remember days of old. Remind myself that my bad today will also pass and pray that our tomorrow will be filled with laughter once again.

I look at my puffy faced baby girl...now hiccuping from her cries...kiss her tear stained face - and I call a truce.