When last we spoke, I was going on and on (and on) about the predictability and compartmentalization of my life.
Ah, the good ol' days.
Since then, a new war has been waged in the Fussy dojo. Not content with the progress (or lack thereof) in the War on Breastfeeding, and with fat war coffers looking to be spent, the Ninja has now attacked on another vulnerable front. 4 out of the last 5 nights have included between 6-8 awakenings with varying degrees of intensity, up to and including an hour long yoga ball bouncing session at 3 am.
Of course, this isn't exactly new. What's new is the fact that I am now aware of it, since Kitty's back at work and my nighttime immunity has been revoked. Whereas I was previously as useful as a (mostly) non-lethal backstop for her to prop the baby up against during the night, we are now splitting duty. Of course, Kitty has given me a couple of nights free and clear on the weekends, and being the incredible husband that I am, I've now tried twice to make it all the way through the night. And since the baby books all define "sleeping through the night" as midnight to 5 am, I define "helping through the night" as 9 pm to 2 am. It's not my fault that Kitty doesn't go to bed at 9 pm.
We've tried all kinds of things to get him to sleep better. We've read the No Cry, Sleep Solution, but we must be reading it upside down or backwards. We've tried setting schedules, reading stories, and baby massage. We've even tried liquor, but that just left us with hangovers, which are not helped by a crying baby either. The only thing that has worked is putting him in bed with us, but then again getting in bed with me has always put everyone to sleep instantly.
If this continues much longer, we will inevitably begin discussing that most dreaded of options for New Age neo-hippie parents... crying it out. I'm pretty sure my parents let me cry it out, but that's not a fair comparison because I cried for the first three months of my life -- and have every October for the past 7 years. Mention "crying it out" among certain circles, though, and you'll get that special look of disapproval doled out to parents of questionable decision making capability from those that clearly know better. Of course, those are the same people that are still holding up the express lanes writing checks at the grocery store, so you don't worry too much about those looks.
Plus, Steven and Elyse Keaton were as hippie as they get, so you've gotta assume they didn't let Andy cry it out and look what happened to him.
I'm sure I just need to keep it all in perspective. Everything is changing so quickly, and he did only wake up four times last night, which is totally acceptable at this point. Next week I'll be blogging about how lazy my kid is and complaining that he never gets out of bed.
And if none of this works, we can always fall back on the one thing we're really good at -- hiring people to do simple things at outrageous rates. I'm sure Seattle has a million baby sleep specialists that would be more than happy to take our money.
Here's the boy cheering on the AL in last night's All-Star Game. I don't think he's ever slept as long as the running time of that game. A fitting farewell to Yankee Stadium, even though there were times when I was wishing Joe Buck and the pregame ceremony would just get a room so he would stop making out with it on the air. Gross.