When I found out I was pregnant, I knew that I was about to kiss those solid eight hours of sleep goodbye for a while. I knew that I’d be waking up to a crying, hungry baby.
So, it was no surprise when, nine months later, I found myself sleep deprived and the only way I could tell if it was morning or evening was by looking outside.
What I didn’t realize at the time was just how long this sleep deprivation would last. My beautiful baby boy is now eight months old and I’m still waiting for the night of no interruptions.
My mornings are now broken down into two categories. The mornings where I’ve had limited interruptions and I feel refreshed and alive –
And the others.
I’d like to say that my husband experiences the bad nights alongside me, but his timing is remarkably uncanny. I’m beginning to think it’s a conspiracy.
After deciding that it’s not worth the effort to wake my snoring hubby, especially since I’m not going back to sleep with all the noise he’s making, I stumble bleary-eyed over to my son’s crib.
My son recently learned to stand. He’s super smart; he can flip over, pull himself up and grab onto the crib railing in his sleep. The downside is that it usually wakes him up, and then he’s confused.
He’s upset and now we’re both up, we might as well fix something tangible. Like a wet diaper.
Changing a diaper of an eight-month old is no easy feat. A successful daytime diaper change is like wrestling a bear cub with ADHD. But, at night, that bear cub has claws. And growls. And, for added protection, has armed himself with a fire hose.
It’s usually about this time, that I regret the decision for not waking up the slumbering giant in my bed. I look down at my son, who is now quiet, happy, clean and dry and ready to be lulled back to sleep. I would love to go clean myself up, but one thing I’ve learned is that you don’t mess with the serenity that befalls a bear cub in the middle of the night. So, I creep softly back to bed, feeling icky, to nurse him back to sleep.
Within seconds of the little one drifting back off to dream land, I join him. Frolicking merrily around in the land of deep sleep until…
This time, I’m not going to fall for the wet diaper trick again. No, sir. Little mister is coming to bed with me, for snuggles and nursing. This way I only have to be half-conscious and can continue to stay in the warmth of my bed.
Apparently, staying in the bed doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to relax in it. My baby has turned into the Tasmanian Devil and at 3 a.m., I am definitely not as quick-witted as Bugs Bunny. I eventually have to reel the little devil in with the promise of warm milk and it works like a charm. For a split second, looking at the sleeping beauty next to me, I forget all the crazy stuff. But’s it’s 3 a.m. and it’s a quick second as I’m asleep again.
For most of the world, 6 a.m. is a perfectly respectable time to be up. I have never agreed with this theory, especially when my alarm was beeping at me. Now, as a stay-at-home mom, I feel that it is completely inappropriate to be up before the sun is. My darling boy has not figured this out yet. His toys are a’calling and he must answer.
My solution is now to bring the toys to him. The quiet toys. Mama is NOT getting up yet.
When my husband’s alarm goes off a few minutes later, he turns to me sweetly and says, “Did he wake up much last night?”
Definitely a coffee morning.
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