Is it a Sin to Like Naptime?

I've been trying to write all day, but Halle keeps waking up from her naplettes crying and then it's back to becoming the Human Bouncey Chair until she's pacified enough to play or eat. She actually just woke up from another impossibly short nap (and to think I foolishly thought: bedtime!), but using my foot to bounce her vibrating chair while I write seems to be working, so let's forge ahead.

You probably think I'm heartless, leaving the little babe in the chair while I write. What I'm actually attempting is to set limits for myself, so that I don't end up breastfeeding every 45 minutes or dancing to Ben Harper with Halle in my arms for two straight hours. (Yes, Ben Harper. Don't judge me.) It's an understatement to say that I love snuggling with Halle, or that her smiles make me feel better than anything else ever has or probably will. But I'm learning (slowly) that sometimes fussing with the baby just makes her fuss harder and longer. For example, a few minutes of vigorous foot bouncing and Halle is sleeping again. Think she'd be snoozing in my lap?

The truth is that these past couple of days have been really hard for me. Tom's back to rehearsing every evening after work, so my days with Halle are long and a little lonely. Halle seems to be entering a really fussy stage, too, so much of the day is spent pacifying a baby who seems over-tired but unable to nap for a sustained period of time. We do a lot of fun things--we take walks and spend a lot of time playing on the floor--but there's a reason nature demands a mom and a dad...it's hard to do it all alone. If nothing else, at least when Tom's around at night I have someone to talk to, or to hold Halle while I get the laundry or run to the gym. At the very least, there's a second adult to hold the cat's head under the faucet when I find her asleep in the bassinet for the 43rd time that day.

(You think me cruel, but I woke up at 3:30am today to find Stella curled up on top of the baby. I almost had a heart attack. And then I sprayed that damn beast within an inch of her stupid, hairball-wretching life.)

I guess I just wasn't prepared for the solitude of new moms, which combined with the anxiety, guilt, fatigue, frustration, and yes, joy, of newbie parenting, makes for a heady cocktail by the end of a 14-hour day. But before I send out invitations to my pity party, let me add that I wouldn't swap these hours of learning how to take care of my daughter for anything. Sure, I don't know what I'm doing--Halle's not on a sleep schedule yet and tonight I accidentally combed her hair into devil's horns--but last night as I rocked her to Ben Harper's "Not Fire Not Ice" set on repeat (look, you have a baby and then judge my musical selection), waiting for Tom to come home and begging her to stop crying and fall asleep, there was a moment of quiet and when I looked down, there she was smiling up at me, right into my eyes. And I thought, Oh. My. God. What a gift.