My son. He does not sleep. EVER.
Well, sometimes he does. But more often than not he is simply "resting his eyes", waiting for the first opportunity to squint up his face, spit out his paci and wail. Seriously. It's getting old. I'M getting old.
Daytime is fine; we nap together which feels indulgent and frivolous, but that's one of the joys of staying at home, isn't it? Why not take advantage of it? I spent the first 6 months of his life obsessing about the laundry, the dishes, the dusting, blah blah. I threw that towel in and decided that snoozing with the little man was way more important. And it is. And I enjoy it. And somehow, all the other stuff still finds a way to get done. Or maybe I've lowered my standards. Either way, it works out and no one's complaining.
Nighttime is an entirely different story and it's wearing on us big. time.
Finding his bedtime requires serious detective work. Was that eye-rub legit or did he get an eyelash in his eye? Is that fussing about being tired or hungry? Why, after almost eight months is it so tough to figure this out? Then, when he does go to sleep, it is a micro-nap of 20 minutes. There is much shuffling up and down the stairs, rocking and ssssh'ing, turning on the white noise machine; turning up the white noise machine; checking for fever; checking his diaper; checking my sanity. Yeah, that's just about gone at this point.
And when we get him back to sleep? It starts again 20 minutes later. We've had some lucky stretches of 2-3 hours of sleep in between the theatrics, but those are few & far between. And we've learned not to trust them or count on them.
Perhaps a phase? We are still waiting for that first tooth. Could this be it? These are the slowest freaking teeth in the history of mankind.
Ugh. This blog entry has no logical end. It's just time to try to get a little catnap before the incredible sleepless wonder pops awake for another round.