Only Words

>> 3.23.2012

The last time I logged miles after 9PM was years and years ago -- in my senior year of college. Exams, relationships, and impending "real world" jobs were too much for me to process without the added endorphins. I'd often run myself to the point of exhaustion to sleep. Somehow the cool, dark air could blow it all away. The stress. I was most often completely alone on the streets. Breathing in the quiet and turning it into some inner sense of calm.

I found myself returning to the darkness this evening after a particularly trying day week. Ada's schedule changed drastically when we returned from NJ . . . and has gotten progressively worse since her shots Wednesday morning. I'd call it the sleep regression I've read so much about, but it's a total day thing, amplified by extreme fussiness. She wakes in the night loudly babbling, ready to play. She wakes for the day hours earlier than before, thrashing around and unhappy. She won't eat without fighting after every single swallow. She won't nap without screaming herself to near-hyperventilation.

Tonight, something new and even more frustrating: We found ourselves b.e.g.g.i.n.g her to fall asleep for the night. Swaying, singing, and bouncing her two straight hours after "normal" -- to which she returned to us several smiles, kicks, and squeals. Totally awake. Everything today totally, totally, totally off from "normal" . . .

There I was.
9:00 PM.
On the brink.

And I told Stephen if I didn't leave at that very moment, I might lose it. Like for REAL lose it, because I know I say that often. I pulled on a sports bra, laced up the first shoes I could find (some fashion Nike pair -- ridiculous for running), and literally ran out the door as fast as I could.

I would have kept going for hours. Yet, I only managed four or so minutes before I cramped up. After all, I had just consumed half a large homemade pizza, four peanut butter oatmeal cookies, and a much-needed Yuengling. I also thought about Stephen. I visualized our inconsolable baby. In fact, at that point half a mile away from our house I swear I could hear her. I turned around.

When I returned, Stephen had somehow soothed Ada to sleep. Not that she's stayed that way. We're still fighting that battle as I type this post, so I should probably get back to it. I imagine this won't be my last late-night run. Not this year. Not this month. Not this week.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Happy weekend, folks.

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