Fun With Adjectives

I'd be more than happy to spend a day in the life of an 8-month old baby. Maybe that way I could gain a little perspective on what on EARTH the freakin' deal is with the sleep situation. I'd definitely get just as much accomplished being an 8-month old baby for a day as I am right now. You should see my house. Wait. No. You really shouldn't. It's a wreck.

And maybe I'm spoiled, but the first two people I ever had were both pretty good sleepers. I followed a rather Hitlerish book's advice and had them both sleeping through the night by like 8 or 10 weeks. No lie. I mean, of course there were little windows of time there where they'd either be teething or growth-spurting, and wake up at 3am for a week until I laid down the law and got them back on track... because teeth and growing aren't reasons to throw our whole system out of whack.

But this time around I'm admittedly less rigid. I've just kind of let things revolve around whatever naps are needed. On one hand that's been a lot less stressful. But on the other, it has made me rather non-committal about quite a lot of goings-on. If I'm to be at the mercy of a baby, it makes being planned at all pretty unrealistic - which - has made for a rather hermitish, anti-social kind of me that I don't really like. And that might make me start getting a little resenty except for the fact that the boys were both on lots of baby foods by now. It has only been a new thing to have the Bunny unclench her jaw and open wide like a starving chipmunk for the spoon. And with breast-feeding, there's no way of knowing how much she's actually getting. So, making sleep-allowances for a hungry baby has been just fine so far.

Until we go to bed with a tummy full of sweet potatoes, blueberry-pear and two boobs-worth of milk. I'm kind of at my wits end. And kind of should not be around actual people. I think maybe this child knows what she's doing.