Another day...

My little has turned 1...last week. Time certainly does fly by. This time last year, I was just out of the hospital--only off bed rest, I was sore and tired from just doing the bare minimum of movement.
LO is crawling and pulling herself up, much to my delight--and fear. She's already into everything into everything, nothing will be safe, not that any of it is now.
Until the day she pulled herself up to standing at the couch (on Feb. 20), I was piling everything I wanted to keep out of her reach on the couch and chairs. When she pulled herself up to standing on the couch, she discovered she could reach all the "good" stuff I kept from her. It was so cute--and frightening--seeing the delight in her eyes as she waved her arms in front of hef, grabbing everything I wanted to keep her out of.
If I ever had to do this all over again, I would. It's tired and exhausting and sometimes very frustrating being a single mom. Whoever said "single moms do it best" is totally kidding themselves. There's no way to say that one person can do what two people can better. Certainly, some married moms still have to just as much as a single mom, but I guess it's the thought that if someone else was here, it'd be at least slightly better. At least I'd have someone to share the experience with. Besides the baby who doesn't have the same perspective on the situation as I do.
Last night, I stayed up a little later than usual--it was nearly 11 p.m. and I was getting ready to head up to bed when the baby started crying. She's been sleeping through the night. Not just sleeping through the night, which is considered to be 5-6 hrs, but 10-11 hours at a time. The night before, it was 11 hours.
Thinking she just needed a little nursing and back to sleep she'd go. I went up and got her out of her crib--it was her second night in it--and brought her down to nurse.
HOURS and I do mean HOURS later, I finally go t to sleep. I got so frustrated I had to put her in her crib, still crying and leave her for what seemed like hours, but was only 10 minutes and I only know it because I looked at the clock, otherwise I would have felt more terrible than I already did. I could tell from her crying, that she wasn't in distress, just tired and not sure what to do. Whenever I'd pick her up, she was happy and smiling and wanted to play, which Mom wanted to sleep.
I feel each day I just float on through each day on a cloud of exhaustion, hoping that I can get enough done to get by.
Tonight's and last night's dinner for baby remains on the floor where LO dropped it. My dinner still sits on the table, waiting for me to do something with it. Dirty laundry is piled on the floor, today's mail is still in the mailbox and half-finished or never started projects piled in boxes never to be seen again.
But I can't muster the energy to do much more than watch whatever's on TV and drink wine. Until I get myself up to bed and hope to get a full night's sleep to be a somewhat functioning person for the next day.