Just when I think that there’s hope for my getting more than three hours of sleep in a row, and not just in a night, it’s smashed into wet, teary smithereens by a seven-month-old monster. I mean baby.
My first kid slept for five hours straight right off the bat. Not until two a.m., mind you, but I could get a decent night’s rest after a nursing/”Firefly” marathon. Kid number two, not so much. This one goes to bed much earlier, but then wakes every one to three hours because he peed. Or needs to nurse. Or, more likely, he peed and now he needs a refill. Oy. And, if he wakes up after about three or four in the morning, I pretty much have to take him to bed with me if I want to get any rest at all because being woken up every half hour for a little suck-fest, well, it sucks. So he eats and I sort of sleep.
And by sort of sleep I mean I sometimes have weird dreams but I get woken up a lot to him rooting around for some boob.
Anyway, lately things have been getting better. Once he goes to bed I have a good few hours to sleep. (It’s not his fault that this is when I choose to check my email or Facebook or some favourite blogs.) The nights he sleeps past three are the nights that I have to get up at three to drive hubby to work because I need the car tomorrow. Then nights I don’t have to get up at three, he wakes up every two hours.
Tonight he was soundly sleeping on my lap so I took him to the crib. He hiccupped. He woke up. He peed. I changed his diaper. Did he go back to sleep? No. He screamed for a good thirty minutes before he was ready for more boob to fall asleep by. But hey, he slept.
Only four more months before I go back to work…