Yesterday around 5 p.m., Carl started an eating marathon that lasted until 10. We had a pleasant evening, during which we met friends for dinner, ate ice cream, visited with each other. I even mowed part of our badly-overgrown front lawn (it’s amazing how overgrown a lawn that is mostly dead can get). But by 10, I was so tired that I literally couldn’t walk a straight line across the room. I barely remember getting into bed at all, though I think I fed Carl one last time and cuddled Eric for a bit before I dropped precipitously off to sleep.
I woke up six hours later because I had to pee.
Six hours later.
Because I had to pee.
Carl was still sleeping peacefully by my side. I had to wait a little while for him to get hungry.
I put him in a fresh diaper, and he ate very efficiently. Only minutes after we got up, he was asleep in my arms. “Wow,” I thought. “This is grea!”
And then he pooped.
So I changed his diaper again, which woke him up, and then I couldn’t get him back to sleep. I was still tired enough that when I tried swaddling him, I couldn’t even get the blanket around him right. So we were up for quite awhile, until at six I finally asked David to see what he could do with the baby. What he did: took him off and swaddled him. Carl went to sleep instantly. David rocked him for five minutes just to be on the safe side, then tucked him back in beside me.
The funny thing is, I resisted looking at the clock when I woke up, haivng decided on my own that clock-watching only caused trouble. And at dinner last night my friend Kim said that very thing had been recommended to her at La Leche when her son was a baby. So I didn’t look at my clock, which I had turned away from the bed. And I didn’t look at David’s clock. It wasn’t until I was changing Carl’s diaper that I relfexively glanced at a wall clock. Imagine my happy surprise.Posted by Su Penn at May 12, 2004 04:00 PM | TrackBack