compassion

Bedtime was another unpleasant episode. I was going to write 'battleground', but I know moms who really have battles at night, so I won't overstate my case. I nursed her for about 40 minutes, trying to unhook the kid several times. No luck. Finally, I asked Dyami to try taking her to the bathroom (she's had kind of an icky tummy the last few days). She got upset. A little poop, but a lot of crying/screaming. We quickly decided she was Not Into Bathroom Time, so I started nursing some more.
Of course, my mood as a mom swings quickly. While I'm nursing for longer than I want to be, I just want to get away. Back to dinner, and my celebratory "Lucy is Asleep" glass of wine (which I'm sipping right now. Ahhhh, Papio). Then when she's crying, I rush back, full of compassion, only wanting to cradle her to my breast. She nurses. I caress her baby-fine hair and delicate scalp, and think about how precious and fragile she is.

This lasts about a minute. Then, when her nursing is strong, and shows no sign of abating (after more than twice what she usually does a night) I stop being quite so misty-eyed. God, can't she finish already? Who does this kid think she is?
Finally, I unlatch. Call in Dyami for backup (he pats her and stays in bed a few minutes to try to head off any wakeups). I tiptoe out of the room. I sit down at the dinner table. I take a bit of my (now cold) chicken.
I hear the Sound of Dread. Baby crying.
Put down chicken. Grumble, grumble. Back in dark bedroom for 10-15 more minutes of nursing.
She seems to be asleep now. (Cross your fingers and pray, people).
I do feel bad for her. And really, tonight wasn't so awful. But gosh, it's just aggravating to be in that dark room for over an hour, with a verrrrrrry tired baby, and not have her sleep. What's the deal?