I’ve been chatting via email with the lovely Amanda about our newborns. Avelyn is about 2 weeks ahead of Wito so it’s been very helpful to hear what the future has in store for me from a fresh perspective. When I was in the depths of sleep-deprivation wondering if I truly had lost my mind, she told me to hang on until the 6-week mark because things would definitely improve.
Amanda, you were so right. Hell yeah.
Wito turned six weeks old last Friday. Up until Friday night, he was only sleeping between 1.5 and 3 hours at a time. And trust me, the 3-hour sleep stretches were few and far between (as the massive baggage under my eyes will prove). Well, Friday night he slept for 5 hours, Saturday night he slept for 5.5 and drum roll please…
Last night, Wito slept from 9 pm to 3:30 am.
Sweet Jebus above let your glorious love rain down on me.
I’m so happy, I’m drinking vodka on the rocks with three olives at 3:00 pm. Um, er, of COURSE, I’m not drinking vodka on the rocks with three olives at 3:00 pm. I’m a breastfeeding mother! What kind of person do you think I am? I only drink vodka on the rocks with three olives at 6:00 pm, people. Jesus.
Although, Wito? Changing your sleeping patterns on the EXACT day of your 6-week birthday? Do you have to be so damn predictable? Where’s the mystery? The intrigue? It certainly isn’t very David Copperfield of you…
I’m kidding. Jinx City. I take it back! I mean, I LOVE PREDICTABILITY! I’m sure the ladies will swoon when you call at 8:00 on the dot like you said!! No one likes a smoldering man of mystery! Schedules RULE!
When D and I both woke up last night around 2:30 am, we looked at each other and in unison, asked the age-old virgin parent question, “Do you think he’s dead?”
Of course, I mean “virgin” as in “new parent”, not “chastity belt”…I mean, how would we have made a baby? Hello? Are you out there?
So, we both tiptoed across the world’s creakiest wood floors into his room and stood over the crib, wide-eyed, staring at our perfectly motionless baby. Now normally, this kid is the loudest eater, sleeper, pooper, etc. But not last night. D had to put his hand on his chest ever so softly (because mother fucker, if you wake him I will shove my foot so far up your ass) to make sure he was breathing. And of course he was. So we tiptoed back to our bedroom and instead of going back to sleep, we sat there watching the clock, wondering when he would wake up.
We waited one hour. Yes, instead of resting our tired and pathetic asses, we sat around in the middle of the night waiting for our baby to wake up.
This parenting gig is unbelievable.
Life around here is so dull.