Monday, January 18, 2010

Early AM With a Bean

It's 1:30 in the morning.


Well, except for the ginormous dog snoring intermittently in his bed.

His bed.

I like the sound of that.

Well, not his bed.  It stinks.  It needs washing, like so many other things around here.

I want to be sleeping.  I am not, however, asleep.  If I could sleepblog that would be an amazing feat, would it not?

My Bean is awake.  Has been for hours.  He has been nursed, given formula, nursed again, given more formula.  He has been changed, given teething tablets.  He's on the floor on a Spongebob blanket, a blanket that was purchased in a moment of weakness before banning all things Spongebob. ( I decided I didn't want my children imitating Spongebob-like behavior, breaking off limbs and developing humongous bloodshot eyes for example.  Or driving hamburgers.  So, he has now been relegated to the floor and is hidden when people visit.  Spongebob.  Not Bean. )

Little Bean is five months old.  He should know better than to make Mommy stay awake for hours at night, non-functional during the day.  He should know that Mommy can only take so long staring bleary-eyed at Bejeweled Blitz, watching her scores plummet lower and lower as her index finger gets sorer and sorer.  He should be snoozing.  Not Bean.  (It's easy to expect a baby should know these things when Mommy is wasted.  Can I say that when it applies to sleep deprivation?  Feels appropriate.)

He turned and looked up at me a few minutes ago while eating before his floor playtime, his smiling eyes reaching deep into my soul.  We have a deep connection, my little son and I.  His beautiful, wise-looking, baby face melts my heart.  Curly hair brushed gently under my fingers, I kissed his Daddy-shaped forehead.

I adore this little tyke.  I love his pterodactyl screeches of delight, the way that I make him laugh more than anyone else.  The others thought Daddy was the hilarious one.  It's a great feeling that someone finds me humorous on a regular basis.  Good for the ol' self-esteem, even if it's just faces and cartoony voices. 

I yearn for my bed, but I treasure my baby.  And in a few years from now, I will look back with gratitude and a twinge of sadness--

Gratitude that I am able to sleep once again, and sadness for the memory of those innocent, blindly trusting and loving eyes gazing so deeply into mine.

Now he is fussing.




Colic Tablets to the rescue!  (Hyland's Colic Tablets are worth their weight in sleep gold.)



On my shoulder, his body relaxes, so trustingly. Breathing slows.  He's sleepy.  Sleeping.

My laptop reads 2:13 AM.

Come, my dear one.  Let's snuggle and dream.