The other day, Gretta woke up from her nap and she was soaked. Sometimes this happens when she falls asleep in the car, and I can actually move her into her crib without her awakening. The problem with this is that the diaper she is wearing usually needs changing, but no way in Heck am I tempting nap fate with that one. It's just a risk I'm willing to take.
So she's wet. I change her, and her crib sheets, and the zillion blankets inside it. She likes it when they're all clean, she says they have a "rate mell", translated that means great smell. And they do. I love Bounty.
Fast forward to that night. Time for bed. Jammies on, prayers said, tucking in has commenced. Problem. No crib sheet. Or zillion blankets. Still in the washer. Hmmm. So I get this crazy idea to tell Gretta her crib is broken. She has to sleep in the bunk bed. Bottom, of course, what kind of mother do you think I am? She agrees, I tuck her in, give her a book, an extra pillow, a little blankie, and her glow worm.
I leave the room fully expecting her to return to the balcony asking for her crib. A few minutes pass, and nothing. Hmm. I settle in to watch some DVR'd shows, thinking certainly as soon as the plot gets good, she would poke her head out. Nothing. So and entire show goes by, and still not a peep. I see this as two things. Very good, as in she is sound asleep, and happily making the transition to a big bed, or very bad as in she has found the lotion and is becoming Degas on the walls as we speak.
So up the stairs I stalk. Quietly quietly. This girl is the lightest sleeper in the world. I open her door ever so slowly, expecting a whiff of lotion or wipes or anything naughty kids would find to occupy their time. Nothing. I peek around the corner of the bunks, and sure enough, there lies Gretta, snug as a bug in a rug. Sound alseep. In a big bed. It was a miracle.
So for three nights now, her crib has been "broken", and she is fine with sleeping in the big bed. I worrry a little because there aren't any railings holding her in, but she hasn't fallen out yet. And even if she does, it's only a few inches to the ground, so I doubt she'd really care. Now the discussion. Do we take apart the crib? Or find another body to fill it?
On a different note, let me just tell you. I am in the midst of the worst depression I've ever experienced. I cannot for the life of me get above it. I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I had to say the opening prayer at church yesterday, and I completely sobbed through the whole thing. The opening prayer, people. It went pretty much downhill from there for the rest of the day. We bailed out of church and decided to take a drive into Wisconsin to see if I could relax and compose myself. I cried for 3 hours. I am on new meds, and even a supplement of a relaxant, but still, there are times when even the simplest of tasks seems overwhelming. My kids think (know?) I'm crazy, and they're tired of me always yelling at them or crying for no reason.
I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe I just need to get it off my chest. Maybe I just need to have another pity party. But this isn't really a pity party. It's more than even Post Partum Depression. It's more than anything I've ever felt. Someone actually told me it's because of the time change. Yeah, genius, I'm sure I've been depressed for weeks because of the time change. Idiot. Maybe I just need some advice on how to get over it. I've turned to many sources. Friends, prayer, prayer, prayer, and even had a friend over last night for a priesthood blessing. I just don't know what else to do. When will I finally learn the lesson I've been given?
Whatever it is, I know big girls aren't supposed to cry.