No Rhyme or Reason

It’s so hard when she won’t settle. When she won’t sleep because she’s crying.  When she’s crying because she’s tired.  When she’s tired because she won’t sleep.  And you can’t reason with her.  Even when the solution is really really obvious.  And you can’t leave her.  Not for long at least and if for no other reason than her screams are impossible to ignore and television volume won’t turn up any more.  It’s not like a faulty car and the radio-induced oblivion. It’s exhausting to the point of fury.  But getting cross and shouting doesn’t help.  All it does is induce guilt to accompany the stress: she is afterall just a little baby - how else is she’s going to tell us she’s unhappy.  I wish she was always happy.  We would be too.