Last night around 3am, Zuzu was being rather restless. She kept fidgeting about in bed and wouldn't be comforted. At first concerned, I was beginning to get really annoyed when...explosive diaper exploded all over the place. Let me say this here and now - I adore cosleeping. I think it exemplifies not only my laziness (I don't even have to get up!), but also my efficiency (baby can eat and I can sleep all at the same time). Last night I discovered a big downside - besides never touching my husband, sleeping in contorted position, and getting smacked in the face when she's dreaming robustly. I discovered that explosive diaper in the night means she dirties her diaper, her onesie, my pjs, the bedsheets, the water proof pad underneath...neccesitating a change of all of the above. And as everyone knows, there is no better way to wake a baby up than change her! So then it was 3am party time...party time.
So here I am, at work, at what is actually an hour earlier according to my internal clock. I am decidedly grumpy, and frazzled. Forget prayer! I'm just trying to stifle my inner monologue of curses.
Today is also the first day of the Conclave.
I feel ready. I want a new pope. I need a little good news, a pick me up, a promise, some hope. I need to have a Holy Father again, someone who I know will be wrestling with the world's problems, so that I'm free to, y'know, wrestle with poop-covered sheets. I need to be able to think of the windows of the papal apartments glowing late at night, thinking that he is awake and praying for me and my family and the world.
I know if you're not Catholic, you probably think I'm crazy. But there is something about having a (spiritual) Father that comforts a daughter, and allows her to be a mother to her own children.
So happy Conclave, happy Tuesday - lets get a Holy Father, folks, cause Lord knows, I need 'im.