I can’t find my Ergo carrier this morning, and it’s the first day since Freddie was born that the weather isn’t EXCRUCIATING and keeping us sprawled on the couch in front of the fans like so:
Belly, book, baby.
Tony doesn’t know where it is, I already texted him. And, because of hormones probably, I’m inordinately upset about this. I could cry or scream or maybe both, but I won’t because Freddie is asleep on my chest right now.
He prefers being on someone to any other sleeping position.
Tony has been taking the first “sleep with baby” shift every night, giving me the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, flat on my back, for at least a couple of hours every night. Of course, without the baby there (and I have no idea why this isn’t the case when the baby is there), I sleep the sweaty, overheated sleep of the newly postpartum, but whatever, it’s in my own bed. After a couple of hours of sleeping with Freddie in the recliner, Tony changes the baby’s diaper and then hands him off to me for the rest of the night. I sleep on the couch in the basement with the little guy, and so far it’s working out pretty well. Tony gets about seven hours of sleep each night (not uninterrupted, but seven hours nonetheless), and I get about five (totally interrupted for diaper changes and feedings every two hours). Plus, I get a nap or two during the day.
I can’t help but wonder what our lives would have been like if we’d had a recliner when Charles was a newborn. Or if we’d just given in a little bit more and bent to what he wanted rather than what we wanted (we wanted him to sleep in his crib or between us in our bed). Freddie gets the benefit of our experience: he gets to sleep in our arms just like he wants and for as long as he wants.
Some might say this is crazy. Some, like my mother, would say I am spoiling my child. But I know better. Kids this age are tyrants. Take a look at this face:
Appease the baby or suffer the consequences (including severe sleep deprivation, cursing God, marital stress, and an over-reliance on coffee, alcohol, and chocolate). Also, I know, I truly know, that it won’t last forever. All I have to do is look at my long-legged big boys sleeping sprawled in their bunk beds to know that this stage of cuddles and sweet, milky breath passes all too quickly.
Really, by holding him all the time, I’m spoiling myself.