Good morning everyone.
I took care of my nephew from 10pm to 7am last night. Well my goodness. All you new moms, I salute you.
That’s the little guy above. Don’t worry, he’s well supervised. Turns out that’s his new slumber position of choice. I’m not questioning.
Oh how interrupted nights tortured me as a young mother. I remember when my second child could finally sleep 8 hours straight. After about 6 weeks of this new situation I woke up one morning and thought, “Wait! I feel normal! I am in fact an optimistic person!”
Sleep training is by now a part of our culture. I tried it, back when, on my son. Mistake. A practice unsuited to my temperament, and perhaps to his as well. I tried once, and the minute he started waking up again, I resigned my self to nighttime crib visits.
He sleeps fine now, I hear, in his apartment in Brooklyn.
23 years later I am sure that the correct parenting choices, assuming you face yourself squarely and honestly, are those that feel right. People told me that back when, but it sounded like propaganda. Like an easy dictum. Hand waving.
Last night with Mr. B. reminded me of how hard and yet how lovely it is to have a baby. When he woke, after a bottle, I’d hold him upright and pat his back until he fell asleep again. But at 2:30am, or maybe it was 3, during one of those restless periods babies insist upon, he lifted his round head off my shoulder. I tried very hard to look straight ahead, offering him no reason to remain awake, but could tell he was staring at my jaw and cheek.
I couldn’t resist a little peek. I turned my face to see his round eyes, open, looking. The gaze of a baby, even when you’d give anything to be asleep in your bed, is more than a privilege.
Have a wonderful weekend everyone. I think I’ll take a very long nap.