My little one is sleeping sweetly at the moment. It’s something I’ll never get tired of seeing, Baby Guy with his arms and legs splayed out and his peaceful little face (weighed down by those cheeks) resting on the mattress. It never lasts long, but it makes my heart happy.
He’s had a couple of good nights in a row now, after many terrible one-or-two-hour-chunks-of-sleep nights. I’m starting to make a recovery, but as I was reminded today, it’s not happening quickly enough.
Kids, I’m here to tell you that brain function is most definitely impaired when you don’t get enough sleep.
Exhibit A: Last night, after a blissful four hours and twenty-three minutes of slumber (the longest block of sleep time I’ve had since, well, since the Time Before), I fed Baby Guy and laid him down (totally asleep). Of course, he promptly spit up all over his Zipadee-Zip, soaking the shoulder of his pajamas, and creating a nice soupy area on the sheet, too. So, I picked up my (now whimpering) child, changed his diaper and pajamas, remembered that the other Zipadee-Zip was still in the dryer, and didn’t have the heart to wake up my exhausted husband (he had a meeting first thing this morning). So I did the logical thing and put my now happily cooing and wide awake baby on the floor and went to get the clean laundry out of the dryer. Anyway, after an hour of awake time, baby guy was finally clean, dry, and asleep again. I was still wide awake though, since every histamine my body could muster was attacking something it didn’t like, so I was sneezing, coughing, sniffling, and wishing desperately for a cough drop. Of course, all three brands of cough drops in our house contain soy. Seriously, people, invest in soybeans. I finally fell asleep approximately 20 minutes before morning came. Bummer.
Well, when my husband was doing the first diaper change, he found my homemade aluminum foil dryer ball in the toe of my son’s pajamas. Usually I check to make sure the feet of his jammies don’t have any stray hairs or strings in them, due to my fear of spontaneous tourniquet formation. But no, this time I missed a giant wad of metal.
I immediately examined the offended foot for lacerations, and there were none. I have apologized to my son, and I will try to do better in the future.
Exhibit B: While my husband stayed home with Baby Guy this afternoon, I went to the grocery store to do the weekly shopping. I was pretty proud of myself for getting some fabulous deals (and I used a big cart this time, which may not seem like much of an accomplishment to some of you, but for me it’s a major achievement). I piled everything-so many things– on the belt to check out, carefully putting my reusable shopping bags in front and my coupons in back (just how the cashiers like it), and reached into my purse to pull out my wallet. Of course my wallet wasn’t there because I never bring my purse anywhere anymore. My wallet lives in the diaper bag now. This realization brought a tsunami of panic upon me, and I considered making a hasty retreat before the guy in front of me was done.
Conveniently, though, I had already done this exact same thing (well, except that time my wallet still lived in my purse but I’d brought the baby and the diaper bag to the store with me instead) and before I abandoned my would-be purchases I remembered that hastily activating Apple Pay had saved the day that time (yes, memorizing your credit card number can be very useful). So, I played it cool, paid with my phone, and got out of there with my groceries. It was a close call, but it worked out.
Exhibit C: On my way home from the store I called my sister to tell her something, and we started talking about my impending plane trip alone with my son. I have mentioned to more than one person that I have no idea how I will even be able to go to the bathroom in the airport with this baby, as I’d have no way of putting him down, let alone the stuff I’d have to carry to care for him. Well, at some point in my monologue of worry my sister broke in with a mention of gate checking the stroller.
Well, that was the first I’d ever even had one iota of a thought about the stroller being a possibility on my trip. Somehow it had never occurred to me to bring a stroller to put my son and the bags in. For a week now, in my head I’ve been strategizing how I can survive a layover carrying the boy in my Boba wrap and his stuff in a backpack. No wonder the idea of the bathroom was stressing me out.
I came home and told my husband my sister’s genius idea. He said, “I had assumed you were going take the stroller.”
Apparently I am the only person in the whole world who didn’t think of that.
The moral of the story is: Go to sleep. Your brain will thank you for it.