Friday, May 8, 2015

what 2am looks like with a baby



Baby makes small grunting noises.

I'm roused from a really great dream about getting back down to my wedding weight with a new diet called "Eat ALL The Calories!" Sigh. Love that dream.

I keep my eyes closed and listen really hard. Is he really awake or is he just grunting in his sleep?

Baby's grunts get progressively louder. The grunts could probably be classified as whines now.

Maybe he'll fall back asleep...

That's my wishful thinking talking, because deep down I know that once the grunts become whines, it's all downhill from there.

Husband is snoring.

He must be deaf at night. Seriously. How can he sleep through all of this?

I stare at the clock, sending as many sleepy vibes as I can through the wall into the baby's room.

My sleepy vibes suck. He's still whining. And getting louder.

Maybe if I pretend I'm still asleep, Husband will become un-deaf and hear the baby. Yeah. And then he'll get up and he'll magically grow breasts so he can feed the baby and I can be the one that gets to sleep all night! Yeah!

Husband's snores start to sound kind of like dying cows.

So it's about now that I start reasoning with God.

"You know, God, your whole babies-waking-up-at-night thing wasn't the best idea. Because didn't you know that if I don't get enough rest, I won't make as much breastmilk? Yeah. It's true. Because science. But for some reason you programmed that along with the fact that babies don't sleep. How does that make any sense?"

But God just laughs at me. And my baby's whining is starting to turn into wailing.

I'm completely and one-hundred percent wide awake now. But my body still doesn't want to move. My bed is so warm, my pillows so comfy... and I really want to get back to that dream where I lose the extra ten pounds I've gained since my wedding by eating spoonfuls of peanut butter and nutella all day.

But I can't be delusional anymore. Because Baby's wailing is now full-on crying, and there's no pretending he's going to go back to sleep anymore because there's no way his binky could still be in his mouth. Besides, I can hear him kicking the wall, which means the swaddle is out, too.

I roll off my bed super gracefully (read: like a drunken pirate who is missing a leg) and stumble into Baby's room.

Sure enough. The swaddle has become a knot of blankets around Baby's waist, and the binky has officially disappeared to the Land of Lost Socks and Bobby Pins with all its other binky friends. Baby's completely upside-down from how I laid him down, and has rolled over onto his stomach. His little feet kick against the wall with surprising vigor as he wails out into the night.

I spend the next ten minutes trying to wrangle down his flailing limbs back into the swaddle.

I fail.

So I hoist the still wailing, squirming baby into my arms, lug all 20 pounds of him over to the rocking chair, and latch him on.

He immediately quiets, and the stillness of the air is broken only by the sweet sounds of his slurping, milk-drunk sighs.

I lay my head back against the rocking chair and close my eyes. Ahhh, the magic of the milk. It cures all.

If only it could cure my exhaustion.

Baby's hand curls itself into a lock of my hair, but he's too sleepy to yank this particular chunk out. Thank heavens. I'm getting low on the hair these days.

I imagine how good a spoonful of peanut butter dipped in Nutella would taste right now.

And then I'm not really sure how it happens, but suddenly I'm startled awake by a motorcycle gunning past our house outside. My eyes find the clock and I wait for my sleepy vision to clear.

3:17.

I look down at Baby. He's sound asleep with milk dried on his chin and his hand still knotted in my hair.

I gently lift him back to his crib and reswaddle him as delicately as I can. And then I all but dash back to bed.

Husband is still snoring away. I elbow him as I slide back into bed and he rolls over. The snoring subsides.

I close my eyes. All is quiet.

For now.

Sleep tight, little baby. See you in 43 minutes.


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