Thursday, May 15, 2008

I have no more clever titles for posts about sleep

Those who are sick of reading endless posts about infant insomnia are asked to bear with me. I have some more interesting topics in mind, but I need to be a bit better rested to devote any creative energy to them.

In the meantime, I must complain about sleep.

Or lack of sleep.

It is ten-thirty and le Petit has already woken up twice. I can deal with this, because, well, I'm still up and aside from whining about sleep deprivation on my blog, I have nothing better to do. Baby comforting duty even got me out of doing the dishes. But last night he woke up at midnight only to fall back asleep at two-thirty, and over the weekend he treated us to a one-to-four am dance party and a ten-to-one soirée on two separate occasions.

He's teething, I think, because sometimes when I try unsuccessfully to nurse him back to sleep he bites me. The last time he did this was just before his four upper teeth came in. So far, thankfully, he hasn't chomped down that hard, just hard enough for me to cry out an indignant "ouch" and end the feeding. When nursing doesn't get him back to sleep--or proves too hazardous--the only solution is to pace endlessly around the room with him in our arms. He's getting heavy, and my patience is wearing thin.

I secretly feel that on nights when I keep my cool, like last night, I earn some sort of cosmic mothering do-good points. I usually use them up by grumping at my husband about some pointless subject the next day.

Letting le Petit cry is no solution, for the uncontrolled sobbing and tossing about just leaves him more panicked and awake. So I grin and bear it, knowing his and our trials are finite. At some point he'll either sleep through the night or go away to college.

In the meantime, you ask, he's asleep right now so what the hell I am doing awake?

Good question. Good night.

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