Contrite.

Two nights ago, I had another rough night. The little tyrant raised hellfire and brimstone at 2am and couldn't be pacified until 3.30am, a full hour and a half, two bottles of milo-milk and 10 Raffi songs later.

Last night, he slept like an angel. But poor mommy is now sleeping on tenterhooks, and finds herself drifting in and out of nervous wakefulness between those witching hours.

Help!

Anyway, the point of this entry is that I've been feeling rather contrite.

A couple of posts ago, I've been resentful of the current living arrangement.

The truth is, we have many reasons to be thankful for the support we're getting. Even though living with the inlaws can never be preferable to having your own space, given our circumstances the grandparents have given more of their time, resources, and energy than anyone can reasonably expect.

Plus the fact that I don't have to lift a single finger in helping with the housework.

Somehow, criticizing the same folks who do my laundry, iron my work clothes and even fold my intimates into a neat pile on my bed every single evening doesn't look good.

So this entry is all about how we are all adjusting, and learning to co-exist in harmony.

The reason for the little tyrant being as tyrranical as he is, is that he had had only 5 days with mommy back in his daily existence before having to lose her every morning from dawn till dusk again.

The folks are also transitioning and learning to deal with having a daughter-in-law in tow, and no son who might be able to front any emerging tensions between parties.

They've been gracious enough with a mommy overwrought with managing her feelings of joy mixed with guilt and no small dose of jealousy and no husband to vent to in person. I wish I could say the same of me - that I'm gracious too. But I obviously haven't been.

Ah, it's complicated.

The point is, during my momentary wakefulness some time between 3 and 4a.m. last night I remembered the vows we made last year, on February 11, during Dylan's infant dedication, that we would raise him in a Christian household. To know God, to be joyful always and living in the power of His grace.

And I realized that it was an easy enough dedication to make in speech. What a struggle against my own profane nature it is to live it out, to walk the walk, and even to some extent talk the talk.

So right before drifting back to deep REM sleep (correction from smug med student: "REM is the lightest of our sleep cycles, you are referring to 'deep Short Wave' sleep." ) some time after 4 a.m. I said sorry.

To Dylan, for failing to bring him up the way we promised we would thus far. And to God, for not remembering His goodness and mercies, and how they are renewed every morning.