Chicken

February 5, 2009 at 1:59 am 2 comments

It is 1:40 a.m., and I have planned my evening poorly. That is to say, I have underestimated my boys, and I am now in the fluorescent kitchen, pawing at a couple of books and wishing I’d laid down about two hours ago. You see the 11:30 feeding, once a staple of the nightly merry-go-round, never materialized tonight. Alex fed the boys solo at 9 so I could watch Lost (and I know that’s pathetic), and then I – after watching said show – made bottles and tooled around, washing dishes and tending to all sorts of things of little import. Now the squad and I are engaged in a game of chicken. I am resolved not to initiate the ritual until one of them, and I don’t care which, announces that he’s right done with sleeping and would like to feast. I’ve got the little 900 mhz portable monitor here, and I’m waiting for it to pounce to life with the sounds and flashing red lights of agitated trippy-lets. And every so often it does. They wake and screech, and I set to preparing. I nuked the water that warms the bottles, and I warmed the bottles. And I snuck in and even re-swaddled Pablo, who had wriggled free and was half asphyxiating his smallest brother (I call him Rigoletto for this reason). But then they settled down again, and now, right now, this second, marks the 5 hour anniversary of their last moment of honest wakefulness. This – by the way – is a good thing in the sort of macro-parenting scheme of things. We WANT them to start sleeping longer and longer, and to somehow come to understand that abstract concept, Night. But in the meantime I’ve planned myself into a corner here, because it would be downright foolish to hit the sack now. There’s no way these boys have but 15 minutes left before at least one of them starts unloading the firepower of his lungs. And so I sit, somehow chastened, holding books, holding bottles, and now, my bodacious macBook, waiting for the clarion call of the early morning meal.

Listen boys. I can wait you out. Keep sleeping – I dare ya. One of us is gonna break, and it ain’t gonna be me.

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Entry filed under: update.

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2 Comments Add your own

  • 1. pyjammy  |  February 5, 2009 at 10:48 am

    yeah, i hated that. i’d assume they’d be waking up to eat 3 hours after their, say, 8 pm feeding. so 11 would roll around, and no waking babies. and who knows when they’re going to wake up, so why bother going to bed for what could be 15 minutes? but it could be 3 hours. sigh. it usually ended up being 3 hours. wish they could have just told me ahead of time. heh.

    Reply
  • 2. Mary Bailey  |  February 6, 2009 at 10:18 am

    We wish Pablo the best in his surgery today.

    And about the ridiculous necessity of watching “Lost”: When Henry was an infant and beyond (before the invention of Tivo), we did everything in our power to get him to sleep by 9 p.m. on Sunday nights so we could watch together (that was important) the new episode of Sopranos. Yes, there was a certain shock at going from cuddling a baby to watching Tony and his gang shoot it up BUT it was also a therapeutic dive back into the Adult world. (And you see the other problem was that if we didn’t get Henry te sleep by nine, then we had to wait a whole hour, until the show was done taping, to watch it which meant that we wouldn’t get to sleep until after 11 p.m.) These things become very important and very rewarding and necessary even with only one baby. With three, well, I think it would be a matter of survival. Best, Mary & Toby

    Reply

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