The other day I thought about how good I’m doing at waking up at night to take care of my favorite tiny human. Then I realized I’ve only been doing it for about two weeks, which means there are so many weeks still to go.
Two nights ago I slept for a total of 2 hours in my own bed and 2 more hours scrunched sideways a rocking chair holding a baby. And I once again realized I still have so many more weeks to go.
As for a glimpse into how I am doing (because that’s the #1 text I receive these days)…
Yesterday Arlo and I had a small discussion about his over-dramatization of sleeping alone in his bassinet while I shower. Later in the afternoon I had another discussion with him about sharting while I change his diaper. I briefly explained how I don’t like baby poop on my hand any more than he likes his bum exposed to cold air. Also that his father had just washed our quilt (of puke and urine) not even 24 hours prior.
For his side of the debate he mostly rolled his eyes in sleepy disagreement, involuntarily smiled at me, or opened his mouth in a way that made me think of the baby bird in the Pixar short.
So basically Arlo wins every discussion by defiantly doing whatever he likes since we love him too much to really ever be upset for long.
Because as much as I dislike babies, I weirdly really like this one. His hands are just so tiny, his knees so wrinkly and his cheeks so small but chubby. His little starting cries are like a cute squeeky toy (albeit less cute at 3am). And when he scrunches his feet close together or hiccups at night I think of how insane it was that only a few weeks ago he was doing that inside my belly.
Showing off his talent to fall asleep quickly while held:
Trying to trick him into thinking he’s being held so I could write this blog post (another 1/4 was written one-handed):
And to prove we still have other children, and we did in fact let them dress up in last year’s costumes to go beg for candy at the stores outside our apartment for Halloween…