Thursday, December 30, 2010

No Pain, No Gain, No Sleep

Baby Harry is nine months old and, until recently, was doing a spot-on job of sleeping through the night. Then he got sick. Like "hey I could probably fry an egg on you if I wanna!" sick.
It was the worst two weeks of my life.
So, obviously, I met his every whim and need on command. If he was hungry even after eating his large lunch, I fed him. If he didn't want to sleep until midnight and could only find comfort by lying on his back, arched over my shoulder like a mink stole, I accomodated. If he felt like climbing my shirt front, ripping off whatever breast-like mass that happened to be in his way, and leaving a goo of baby nose slime in his wake - he did it.
And I showered more.
When he let me.
So now that he's pink and perky and back to a less fiery temperature - I seem to have nurtured the sickness - and the brattiness- out of him.
He sobs if I remove a found toy from his hands - no matter that his new "toy" is usually something that could choke/scar/maim him. He now imitates a banshee on crack if I so much as venture more than 12" from his person - making "quiet time" for momma a near impossibility. And, finally, he refuses to sleep alone.
His Pottery Barn crib with colorful sheets and bumpers?
A torture chamber.
The Twilght Turtle projecting the night sky upon the ceiling?
His jailer.
And me?
I am his Pardoner.
Only I can save him from his cruel cold prison. And so he howls, he shrieks, he yells, he shakes, he grunts, he coughs, he sputters and he pleads: "MOMMOMMAMMMOMMAAAMOMMAMMMOOOMMMA!"
And what do I do?
I escape. I hide. I cry. I --- blog.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

"Twilight Turtle" sounds damn scary to me, too, H4. poor little baby...sorry to hear you were sick.
Oh yeah and here's some sympathy for you, too, Holly. ((((Holly)))) Cyber hugs,