As Ike creeps ever closer to full-on mobility and the ability to kill his fool self, his nightly plan to kill me is going swimmingly. Just...peachy. And scream-y.
When we last discussed The Utterly Fascinating To No One Else On Earth Topic Of Ike's Sleeping Habits, we'd stumbled upon what I thought was the solution to all the problems: Early bedtime! No, earlier than that. 6:30 pm. Huzzah! It worked, and he started sleeping through the night for all of...I don't know. Four, maybe five nights in a row, if I'm being generous.
Then the wakings started again. He wakes up wide-eyed and wet-butted at 11:30, then argues with me about sleep and politics and whatnot for an hour or more. So I get to bed around 1 am most nights, only to get woken up AGAIN around 5 am, usually for good, because at that point, he's gotten PLENTY of sleep, so what's YOUR problem, lady? Go nuke me some butternut squash. And would it kill you to grate a little fresh nutmeg over the top this time?
So. That's what? Four hours of sleep, on average? Holy God, I was getting more when he was a newborn. I've tried going to bed earlier, in hopes of getting an extra hour or two before the midnight-ish waking, but as a life-long confirmed Night Owl/Not A Morning Person, that's easier said than done. And for anyone who's thinking that 5 am isn't such an unreasonable waking hour, well, please don't say it out loud because I will punch you in the goddamn face. Not intentionally, or anything. It'll be more like a reflex. A hateful, angry, punch-y reflex.
Point is: I GIVE UP. He's won. The infant is firmly in charge and I am but his groggy-eyed milk-slave. My only means of protest is that I am really, really good at thinking up obscene lyrics to otherwise soothing-sounding lullabys.
And Stockholm Syndrome is in full effect as well, as evidenced by my reaction to Jason's initial suggestion that we get away for a single, solitary night to celebrate my birthday. He proposed dinner at Volt (of Bryan Voltaggio/Top Chef fame) and a stay at a bed and breakfast, while my in-laws stayed here with the wolf pack. And I balked at first because: The baaaaaby. I have to be here to nurse the baaaaaby. I can't leave my baaaa...
AND THEN IKE STARTED WAKING UP AT 3 AM IN ADDITION TO THE 11:30 PM AND THE 5 AM WAKINGS AND I BEGAN TO SEE THROUGH SPACE AND TIME AND ON SECOND THOUGHT, JUST LET ME GET MY COAT. IF WE LEAVE RIGHT NOW I CAN GET A BONUS NAP BEFORE OUR DINNER RESERVATION.
Not going to lie: It was glorious. I hauled ass and breast pump out of the house on Friday with hardly a look back at my poor, abandoned young. (Though I admit the general consensus from them was a half-hearted "Whatever. You'll be back. Plus Grandma never checks the clock before promising us a movie so guess who's gonna be watching Despicable Me at 10:30 at night?")
I did have to make a couple decorating changes at the B&B, however, before I felt comfortable passing out cold on the bed. The theme in our room was, unfortunately: DOLLS. DOLLS EVERYWHERE.
Oh please, how harmless-looking am I? Don't I kind of remind you of a doll you probably owned as a child? I'm just gonna sit here, right at the end of the bed...
...UNTIL YOU GET UP TO PEE IN THE DARKNESS AND MY GIANT TEETH AND UNBLINKING EYES ARE GLOWING FOR YOUR SOUL.
So I shoved her and several other dolls (including one attached to a spare toilet paper roll cozy that also particularly unnerved me) underneath a small table on the other side of the room.
In retrospect, I'm not sure this was an improvement.
Dinner was awesome, as was the carefree realization that, as the meal dragged out into HOUR THREE, it did not matter because no one was going to be waiting up for us and/or demanding an exorbiant hourly fee for babysitting. We could like, hit up a nightclub after this! We could go dancing! Drink ourselves stupid! I mean, more stupid. Stupider. Stupidishier.
We did not actually do any of those things. We stopped at a toy store to buy each of the boys a present and then went back to the B&B and slept for approximately 14 solid hours. In the morning we ate some eggs.
Then we came home, and the real wild times started, because I BOUGHT US A POTHOLDER LOOM, PEOPLE. BEHOLD MY SKILLS.