fiesta si, siesta no

i put baby to bed and am too tired to shower. self doubt kicks in and i wonder what is the right way to put a crying, tired child to bed without a tantrum. i do the routine, i read the story, mood music in the background, eyelids droop and then bam! fake tears wholehearted screeching and wailing. the works. welcome back migraine.
i leave him in the crib and go up to my room. he quiets down. i know he's listening, hunting for signs that mom is around. a misstep, he heard me stumble on a stair. screeching begins again. waaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! louder than before, piercing.
my instinct says get him, but i don't. he has to go to bed. he has to be alone. who says? i do. i know it all right? this second child has humbled me. i don't have all the answers and whatever worked for my fist kid, doesn't necessarily work for the new baby.
for years i was lucky, numero uno was easy. eat sleep, poop. low maintenance for years. he was portable and adaptable, hardly ever noticeable. god knew i couldn't handle anything else. this one is hungry all the time, for company, for food, for fiesta.
the change of pace has been harder on me than i care to admit. just because i'm humbled and humiliated doesn't mean i'm ready to change. it's always been hard for me to accept certain things are different and move on. even harder when its me being wrong. my brain knows it, but my soul just wont give up. i'm just like the crying baby downstairs. when will we learn. now we're both crying ourselves to seep. at least he's clean.