Husband brings our sweet, wide-awake baby in to me, still sleeping, at 6:45. He's off for his morning run, as is his habit. I could be resentful of this routine of his, but it actually allows me to feel beneficient, self-sacrificing. I, too, will get up early so that he can have this. Still, I've got to get through this day somehow on very little sleep. Our Baby Bean is sick with a cold and teething at the same time, and on top of all that has figured out how to roll onto her belly in her crib but not back the other way. She requires us to turn her several times a night, ply her with various medications.
I nurse Bean in bed, enduring her gripping of my breasts and neck skin--do I really have that much neck skin? Is it a wattle yet?--and her kicking of my belly. I imagine what it must feel like to be a cat with her litter or a big sow with 8 piglets, all of them doing exactly this. One baby isn't so bad.
Bean looks sleepy after nursing, so I take her into her room and put her in her crib again, feeling hopeful that she'll go to sleep. I brush my teeth and insert my contact lenses while I pretend to believe she'll stop fussing and snooze. Then I give up, put on my robe (not clothes) and retrieve her.
I make us breakfast--virtuous yogurt and fruit for me, pears and oatmeal for her. We are both fussy, but we eat. I don't have my first cup of tea since I'm holding out for a nap for the both of us.
We play a bit, but mostly she wants to be held so that she can wipe her runny nose on my robe. We are both still fussy. Finally, though, it is clear that she is genuinely sleepy. I change her one last time and put her in her crib and it's off to napland almost instantly. She makes one sound of objection, turns her head, and closes her eyes. I pad straight down the hall to our bedroom, click on the monitor, shed the robe, and crawl into the half-made bed. There is still a little residual warmth from earlier trapped under the down comforter. Mmmm....
I'll be alright in an hour.