I remember Rachel telling me once that I loved sleep more than anyone she had ever met. That was a really long time ago, looong before I had a child who apparently runs on breastmilk and dirty diapers and has NO NEED for sleep, bah humbug, screw the sandman, time to par-tay.
Sleep is...sleep is love. Sleep is the greatest gift God gave to humanity. Soft beds, cool air, warm and heavy blankets...ahhh...bliss. Or, at least I think so? I'm not really sure, because my three-month-old has decided that sleeping longer than 45 minutes at a time overnight is HIGHLY overrated.
This is partly my fault, I know it is. She slept until 1:30 last night and then was up every 45 minutes. I fed her at 1:30 and 5:30, but otherwise just went in and gave her the paci and re-swaddled her. Really? I should've just left her crying.
I am weak. I couldn't do it. Not this week, when she and I were separated for 36 whole hours*. She didn't know why I was gone. I was just...gone. (Um. She was having LOTS of fun with her daddy and probably hardly noticed, but in my mind, she spent the whole day wondering where the milk maid went.) Now, it's the middle of the night and she wants me, nay, NEEDS ME, and I am going to stay in my bed while she HOWLS for me? Riiiight. Maybe you're made of steel, but ever since she was born, I am made of cotton candy, and so I stood over her crib all freaking night, giving her the paci and shushing her back to sleep.
So, yeah. I have only myself to blame for this new pattern. And unlike the last time she was sleeping in 45 minute stretches, she actually likes the world now. She smiles and sits on our laps and plays and coos and gurgles and is generally lots and lots of fun. I wouldn't call her EASY, by any stretch, but she is definitely lots of fun. So, you know, there's that. And I'll take fun and sleepless over constantly screaming and sleeping at night. I guess.
*How did the return to work go? The tears, oh GOD the tears. The hitching, snotty, endless sobs. Gracie, on the other hand, did fine, except for deciding to never, EVER sleep again. Also, it turns out three months is precisely how long it takes to TOTALLY FORGET how to do your job and turn into a bumbling idiot who can't remember the most basic tasks. Luckily I have no attention span and spend half my day staring at pictures of my baby and wishing I could be with her. It turns out squeezing an 8 lb baby out of your body is quite easy. Leaving said baby three months later is some seriously hard shit.