You know the old saying, and it pretty much sums up life with an infant. Just when you feel like you’re starting to settle into a routine, figure it all out, regain a bit of balance, something comes along and throws you for a loop.
Two nights ago, Henry went to bed easy–no fussing, no overtired crying–and he ended up sleeping from 8:30 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. He stirred once or twice throughout the night, but managed to put himself back to sleep. He even woke slowly in the morning, babbling softly to himself instead of waking suddenly and demanding (very loudly) to be fed.
It was amazing.
And I thought (or maybe prayed) that we might be able settle quickly into this new routine so I could stop feeling like I was walking around in a haze of exhaustion all the time.
But last night things just seemed a little off with H-man. He just seemed a bit unsettled. I had him up in bed around 8:00, and I should have known it was going to be a long night when he was already up and crying at 8:45 and 9:30 and 10:00.
I finally attempted to go to bed around 11:00, and H-man had me up another six times before we both finally gave up and just stayed up for the day around 8:00 a.m. And now that I have the fitness tracker keeping tabs on my sleep, I get to see the craziness of a night like last night all charted and color coded for me. The “awake” time seems to be the actual walking back and forth to H-man’s room and pacing back and forth trying to bounce him back to sleep. The “light sleep” is the hours I spend in the rocking chair, half-rocking, half-sleeping with a restless baby on m shoulder. And the “deep sleep”? Well, those are the moments when I collapse in bed and pass the hell out.
I have to say, I like the way the fitness tracker strings these all together and tells me I almost got enough sleep last night. Guess it’s a glass-half-full type. All I know is, it’s good that I didn’t have anything real pressing on the agenda today because even after a cup of coffee and a hot shower, I was barely functioning.
And then, shit happened. Well, puke happened. But honestly, it’s sort of the same thing if you ask me. Same mess, just spewing out of a different place.
I’d just gotten out of the shower and into a clean set of clothes and less than 10 minutes later, little H-man made an awful noise and showered me with a hot mess of pale orange mucusy liquid. Stevie and I jumped up, grabbing burp rags to try and contain the mess. Henry choked for a moment on the junk coming out of his nose, then coughed and cried. I suctioned him and stripped him down, and then held him on my shoulder, rubbing his back until he calmed down. I got him wiped down, passed him to Stevie so I could quick change clothes. Then I took him back and settled into the chair where he fell into a restless sleep on my shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, H-man sat up suddenly, cried, and then the whole scene repeated itself.
Four hours and four outfits later, the poor little guy finally seemed to have emptied himself out. No fever. No other symptoms. Just a whole lot of puke and exhaustion.
It’s been one helluva day.
And now I’m sitting here, listening to little man breathe over the monitor and hoping maybe we can both get a little rest tonight and feel better in the morning.
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Lori Romano 