Not the Parent I Want to Be

Last night it took your tear-soaked stuffed animal against my face until I felt compassion and I'm sorry.  I want to jump out of bed at the first sound of your distress, but I don't anymore.  I'm so tired.  I'm tired because it's been 10 months of getting up at night.  I'm frustrated because you've been so inconsistent.  We seem to finally make some forward progress only to take steps backward for no discernible reason.  Trying to comfort you in the middle of the night when I don't understand your issue and I am at my worst has left me exhausted.  Feeling like I'm failing at comforting you in the middle of the night when I don't understand your issue and I am at my worst has left me emotionally drained.  At 2:30 in the morning when you've been screaming for over an hour I am not the parent I want to be.  I am angry at you.  When you finally collapse into my arms and stroke my lips with your fingertips I know that you need me.  When you sigh contentedly and slowly doze off, I know you are secure next to me.  But when you are awake for the third time at night, I feel bitter.  And ashamed that I am not the parent I want to be.