Last night would be a great example. He was a little sleepy bear as I wrote my blog entry. I went to be at 9:20 just as Scotty was waking up and Brian was preparing for night shift. I woke up at 12:00am to pump, and Scotty was just being fed and ready to put down. Great, I thought, I have a good four hours of sleep ahead of me.
As we all know, pride comes before the fall. He was up at 2:30, fussing. By 3:00am, I gave in and fed him (it was not binkie-related, apparently.) He took absolutely forever and a day to eat - and at 3:50am, his eyes were starting to close (blessedly). I took the opportunity to pump (I've realized that if you don't strike while the iron is hot, it is impossible to pump later) and finally went back to bed around 4:30.
And he was up at 5am.
I seriously cried in the nursery for about 45 minutes, simply from sheer exhaustion. He ate, pooped, and was back to bed by 5:35am.
And then he was up again at 6:30am.
Seriously, do I have Chinese food for breast milk? Why is he hungry two hours later? Why is it always at night? Please, child, sleep. I'm fairly certain I begged him to do this during my 5am exhausted cry-fest.
Instead of begging the baby to sleep, I did the next best thing: I woke up Brian. I handed him said child and promptly went back to bed.
Yes, I copped out, but I was completely and totally spent at that point. I slept until 8:30 and woke up to - what else? - pump.
So, thank you, Scotty, for putting Momma in her place. Never again am I going to talk about your awesomely long naps or four-hour sleep stretches at night. Because you will put me in my place by making sure the minute my head hits the pillow, I will have to get up again.
Okay, in other news (I really didn't intend for this to be about sleep, again), I attended my first post-baby baby shower. It was for a good friend who is due the day after Thanksgiving. The mom-to-be was glowing and it was a great time. I was a little trepidatious since I didn't know anyone else at the shower, but as it turns out, she is also friends wtih a neighbor of one of my good friends. (I swear, you can't swing a dead cat in this town without hitting someone you know. Really.) Also, some of Brian's co-workers were there so it was fun to catch up with them, too.
Anyways, I really don't want to talk about the baby shower details - I'd rather talk about it what it was attend a shower, post-baby. The gifts were piled up in the corner (quite the stash, too) and aside from accidentally standing in front of the video camera for about 35 minutes, oblivious to the fact that there was a video camera while I crunched potato chips loudly, I couldn't help but think that the shower is not about the baby but more about the mom.
Seriously - if the baby shower was about the baby, then the most appropriate gifts would be (in this order): diapers, Desitin, a hospital-grade breast pump, frozen meals, and a cleaning service for the first three months post-partum. Moms don't need oodles of cute clothes or plush animals (at least, not yet). They need sanity and lawn services. They need sleep and books about healthy sleep habits.
I was thisclose to turning into 'that person' and going off of the registry for my gift. I really thought the mom-to-be would better benefit from a nice collection of baby books - 'Baby 411' and 'Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child' are on the top of that list - but I refrained. I mean, I don't want to tell her what to do. I don't want to pop her happy pregnancy bubble and tell her that if she thinks pregnancy is hard, wait for the next 6 after baby weeks to kick in. I don't want to say anything because I got so annoyed at the people who told me this. And instead of listening, I discounted it. Oh, pride does come before the fall.
So instead, I remained quiet and ate my potato chips (which tasted awesome, I might add. It's nice to have my taste buds back.) I don't know if I'll ever be able to attend a shower again without thinking about this, but really, a mom-to-be does need her day in the sun. She needs to be pampered and adored. Because it's great to bask in cute clothes, snuggly blankets, and the blessed naivete of what is about to come.