Something fishy

It is 1 a.m.

Fussing noises are coming from the bassinet letting me know that my little girl is getting hungry.

I pick up Moira, ailment shuffle to the couch with Spooka, mind my trusty night-light/nursing companion.

Snif, site sniff. What the hell is that smell? Did someting die under the couch? It smells like sandwhich meat gone off or fish… oh wait, we had fish for dinner. Maybe it’s the garbage? But why is it so strong right here? (Also, other than the wrapper, there was no fish that went into the garbage.)

Moira says she doesn’t care. Put me on the boob now! Eats like she hasn’t been fed in days. Falls asleep on my shoulder mid-burp (love it when she does that).

1:30 a.m. Both of us go back to bed. Moira pretty much remains asleep when I put her down.

It is 3:30 a.m.

Fussing noises are coming from the bassinet letting me know that my little girl is getting hungry.

What really? Already?  I try to put the soother in mouth. No such luck. What’s wrong honey? Well, I guess you only ate on one side before falling back asleep…

Shuffles back to couch with Moira on shoulder and Spooka in hand.

Sniff sniff. There is that smell again! *looks around couch* Seriously, where is that coming from? We just vacuumed on Sunday but maybe I need to vacuum again. There is no way we got any fish around here – we ate outside. (Also not possible – rotting sandwich meat anywhere in the apartment.)

I’m stumped.

It is 4 a.m. I shuffle back to bed, me giving the couch an evil glare, Moira asleep on my shoulder, Spooka in hand. Moira pretty much remains asleep when I put her down.

It is 4:15 a.m.

Moira: kick, kick, kick. squirm, squirm, squirm, fuss.

Mummy: *reaches over into bassinet to put her hand on Moira’s chest which usually calms her down*

Moira: kick, kick, kick. squirm, squirm, squirm, fuss. KICK, KICK, KICK.

KICK, KICK, KICK.

Mummy: What is wrong with you? *pulls Moira into bed to attempt to settle her.*

Moira: KICK, KICK, KICK. squirm, squirm, squirm, fuss. KICK, KICK, KICK. Snooze. Wake-up. KICK, KICK, KICK. Snooze. Wake-up. KICK, KICK, KICK.

It is 5:30 a.m.

 KICK, KICK, KICK

Seriously Moira, what the hell is your problem? You can’t seriously be hungry can you?

Shuffles to couch.

Sniff, sniff. WTF is that?

And then, like the dawn (which I am reluctantly viewing at that moment) the realization slowly rises: It’s her diaper. (She so rarely needs her diaper changed in the middle of the night, maybe I can be excused for being negligent.)

Finish feeding her (again) and change her diaper. A very dirty, sticky and obviously uncomfortable diaper. I know now that the kicking meant: get this frickin’ fish-diaper off me!

After that she slept until 10 a.m. when I opened the curtains so she would have to wake up. (Plus, a friend came over for tea at 9 a.m. and since I had to be up…)

Notice how she was quite content to eat every time? Needless to say, I’m a little tired today but I’m still laughing at myself because it was my own damn fault!

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