So this has been pretty much the week from hell. Gabe decided over the weekend that he was going to start getting his 3rd and 4th eyeteeth, so he's been waking me up around 3 or 4 AM and keeping me up for an hour or two by screaming inconsolably. I was staying up too late helping Jeff with algebra- midnight or later, when I have to get up by 7 at the latest. I haven't been drinking enough water, so I've had a dehydration headache almost every day. Oh, remember me just mentioning Gabe screaming in the morning? Wednesday morning I was awake laying next to him, trying to talk to him, sing to him, get him to nurse, whatever would calm him down, when Jeff got woken up- not by Gabe, but by a sherrif who had been called to investigate my son's tortured crying. It was a still, foggy morning, and I imagine it carried pretty well- especially when you consider the window was open, and we sleep less than a foot from it. And the fact that houses here are about 10-15 ft apart. The sherrif (and the city cop who joined him) were really nice, and Gabe even smiled for them after a diaper change and some kids' Motrin. But it still made me have a really shitty day. I am always looking for reasons to shame myself as a mother, and this one was first-rate. After I got to English (late), I swear I caught my prof looking at me funny. We wrote an essay in class Monday, and I've been obsessing about it. I started crying while I was writing it (crappy hormones), and a tear dropped on the page and blurred one of the lines. I hope he didn't notice that, or the fact that I was crying to begin with. He probably thinks I'm a fruitcake.
There have been a lot of good things, though. My Spanish class is a lot of fun, and I feel like I'm picking it up rather well. I can actually carry on a conversation in Spanish now, provided I'm only expected to talk about what someone has or is wearning, or how they look. And only in present tense. Well, I guess I can introduce people and produce a little chit-chat, too. I love my English class, too. That's why it bothers me that my prof may think I'm insane. I really love him already, and I want him to think I'm ferociously intellegent and a fantastic writer. Now, if he thinks I'm also crazy, well and good. But believing I'm crazy and an average or just-ok writer, that would suck. I could care less about my Financial Planning prof's opinion- but then, I tend to form really strong attachments to my English profs. I have a long history of it. In Financial Planning, I have to fight just to stay awake.
It has also been good to get out of the house every day. Not that it has given me any more patience for my kids, kind of the opposite. But that is probably more due to exhaustion than anything else. I really like college, a lot. Unfortunately, Allie has been less than pleased at me being dropped off every morning. Then, she's unhappy when Jeff leaves for school and work. This actually started before school did- but then it was just Jeff leaving for work that got her upset. It seems to be some sort of separation anxiety- I didn't know kids could still have that at almost-4. But she's been the exception for all the other rules, I guess- why not this, too? I'm trying not to beat myself up about it being a sign of insecure attachment or something like that. I don't think it is. I think it's just Allie.
I think our baby (yes, I'm 99% sure it's a singleton) is a girl. I've been calling her "Blinky" for no reason, except that tiny embryos look sort of lightbulb-shaped. Poor Gabe. He's gonna be one great husband, growing up with all these women.