Oh what a day. Last night Isabella woke up screaming just before 2 am. We waited to see if she’d go back to sleep on her own, but no dice.
Melanie tried nursing her and changing her. Nope.
She tried bringing her in to sleep in our bed. No way. (Bella has never slept in our bed with us. She just won’t do it for some reason. I suppose I’m grateful that she won’t be climbing in with us keeping me up with her thrashing while asleep, but on the other hand it would be more convenient on occasion.)
Finally, I resigned myself to the situation, got up with her and took her into the other room where we watched video podcasts until she calmed down. (Nothing like discussions of Web 2.0 to calm down my budding geek in training.)
Eventually she was calm enough to begin playing, but 14-month-old babies don’t play all that quietly. Poor Melanie couldn’t get back to sleep, which was the reason for me being up in the first place.
Around 4, Melanie came out nursed Isabella back to sleep and we went back to our respective beds… until my alarm clock went off at the usual time of 5:30 am. Drag myself out of bed, into the shower, eat a piece of cold pizza, pour the coffee into my travel mug (Thank God, I set the thing to auto-brew), make my lunch.
By 6:15, as I’m headed out the door, Isabella started crying again. Melanie is changing her and heading for the nursing chair as I say goodbye.
It’s been a long, long day in a half-stupor punctuated by moments of caffeine-induced lucidity.
If suffering is good for the soul, it’s a wonder there aren’t more parents who are canonized saints.
Once again, I’d like to thank my parents and express my all-too-belated admiration for their sacrifices. And this is the normal sleepless night, not like my mom’s three-nights-a-week trips to the emergency room with my asthmatic brother.
P.S. We think last night’s drama was caused by an incipient tooth. Either that or the coffee ice cream I was sharing with Isabella yesterday. But they must use decaf, right? Right?