Party at my crib, 2 a.m.
Every night this week!
This was going to be a post on sleep, or lack thereof. Since last weekend, in this new glorious phase of teething (which I think is the culprit here), our nights have been punctuated by inconsolable crying at scream level. No amount of rocking, feeding, meds, etc. seem to appease very loud Baby. And Baby is rather heavy; walking him around the apartment is like lugging around a Butterball Thanksgiving turkey. I have given up and just bring him to our bed when the wailing begins, so that we can all get a little more rest. He wakes up around 1:40 a.m. and toggles between crying and dozing till about 6:30 a.m., when heâ€™s up for the day. In our bed, Baby lies in the dark between us and talks. He rolls side to side in the dark. On one side, he reaches over and grabs Husbandâ€™s nose and pats his face in attempts to rouse him (ainâ€™t going to happen, kid) and rolls back around and backhands me on my cheek.
As a result, I am amazed that Iâ€™ve been able to do my job, hold a conversation, comb my hair. I havenâ€™t completed the fourth revision of my novel-still-in-freaking-progress, but I think thatâ€™s okay, because that would sort of be like expecting a drunk person to thread a needle. Even under the best of well-rested circumstances, itâ€™s a tough task for me, so right now, when it feels like my face is melting off my skull, itâ€™s low-priority.
Nearing the end of Baby Boot Camp Week 1t, we still seem to be massively in love with Baby. This morning, at 4:11 a.m. when Husband retrieved weeping Baby from crib, he settled Baby into my arms, and Baby broke out in a huge smile and started playing with the bunnies at the end of his footie pajamas. Husband and I, bleary-eyed, were utterly charmed. And there is a lot to complain with the whole parenthood thing, particularly this week, but Baby is healthy, hearty, and likes to have a good time, so I think Iâ€™ll leave it at that. That cheeky, little stinker. He is amazing.