Sometimes when I'm feeling particularly desperate, I read old entries of Dooce's from when she first became a mother. One day in the harrowing first week of parenthood, I sat there reading this entry out loud to Brad, and simultaneously crying and laughing so hard I almost couldn't get the words out. If I had an ounce of the sense of humor that woman has, I could have almost written her post (except for the parts about labor not being that bad... and breastfeeding being easy).

It's wonderful to feel like all of what I'm going through is pretty normal, and that people actually decide at some point that it's so worth it they'd like to have another kid (something I can't imagine yet, to be honest). It's not so wonderful to know that I identify so well with someone who later had to check herself into a hospital for postpartum depression.

These days, my biggest problem is that even when I try to sleep when Eva sleeps, I can't. I lay there, maybe dozing off for 15-30 minutes if I'm lucky. Even when she's sleeping in another room and Brad is watching her, and it's perfectly quiet, I can't sleep. The only time I can sleep is when I'm drop-down exhausted, and getting to that point is not pretty. So most of the time, I'm a nervous wreck, knowing that she'll be awake and wanting to constantly nurse for four to six continuous hours during the only time of day my body wants to allow me to sleep.

So here I am, not sleeping when she sleeps. Because I already tried that for an hour and a half, and got maybe a half hour of sleep.

I keep telling myself it's supposed to get better. I keep imagining how someday she'll smile at us. Maybe if I keep telling myself that I'll get to the point where I can relax enough to sleep.