Dear Wannabe Diary,

Let me paint you a picture of last night. Picture a blissful, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep... Got it? Great. Now burn it, because my night was a horror movie sponsored by toddler fever, midnight tears, and my slow descent into madness.

It wasn’t just the fever—though that 39°C (102.2°F) nightmare sure didn’t help. It was the constant waking up. Every hour on the hour, my little one was either crying, clinging to me, or pointing at her tummy like it had personally offended her. I spent the night rubbing her back, shushing her gently, and repeatedly convincing myself not to Google "fever plus tummy ache equals…?" at 3 a.m.

When I wasn’t soothing her, I was fumbling with a thermometer in the dark, squinting at the glowing numbers like they held the secrets to the universe. Spoiler: they didn’t. And every time I thought I could finally sleep, she’d whimper, and we’d start the whole circus all over again. Two hours of sleep, max. Maybe.

Daytime: Same Drama, Different Lighting

The morning wasn’t much better. My toddler woke up with just enough energy to be cranky but not enough to do anything useful, like... be happy. She was Velcroed to me all day, pulling every trick in the book to exploit my mom guilt. Want another cookie? Sure. Watch cartoons? Why not. Draw on the wall? Honestly, at this point, go for it.

I was running on fumes and coffee (one cup, because pregnancy rules). By midday, my sanity was hanging by a thread. So, I texted my sister for backup.

“Kid’s home sick. Wanna come over for coffee?”

Her reply: “Be there in 15.”

Short, sweet, and to the point. My kind of conversation. She arrived, hugged my clingy koala (a.k.a. my daughter), and gave me a solid hour to breathe. Sisters are the unsung heroes of motherhood.

Nap Time? More Like Nope Time

Post-lunch, it was nap time—or so I thought. I carefully laid her down, rubbed her back, and watched as she drifted off. Five minutes later, the baby monitor lit up like a disco ball. She was awake and furious.

Round two of "Please, For the Love of All That Is Holy, Nap" lasted a full 30 minutes, during which she stared at me with one eye open like she was auditioning for a horror film. When she finally fell asleep, I made it 10 steps out of her room before the monitor lit up again.

At this point, I accepted defeat and turned on some cartoons. Screen time rules? Out the window. My sanity? Barely intact.

A (Very) Brief Respite

My partner came home early, bless his soul, and took over for a bit. I snuck off to my “office” (read: a corner of the house with Wi-Fi) to catch up on work. Five minutes later, I heard a little knock at the door followed by a pitiful "Mommyyyyy." And just like that, my productivity dreams were dashed.

We played. We cuddled. We read books. And somewhere in the chaos, I got a message from our pediatrician. Appointment booked for tomorrow at 5:45 p.m. Great. At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with.

A Moment of Reflection (And Exhaustion)

After dinner and a surprisingly smooth bedtime routine, I finally had a moment to myself. I could’ve used it to meditate, read more of Joe Dispenza’s book, or do another hypnosis session. Instead, I collapsed into bed and wrote this post.

It’s not my best work, but hey, I’m still here. Still writing. Still trying. Some days, that’s enough.

Signing off,

Wannabe Survivalist (mastering the art of one cuddle at a time)