Sleep. Oh, how I miss you. Yet, even as I’ve begun to transition Nugget into the crib in her own bedroom I can’t seem to get some. I lay there for moments on end wondering if she’ll cry in 20/40/60 minutes. I wonder if she’s comfortable, if tonight will be the night she sleeps for a long stretch (for once), if she’s old enough to be in her own room. Inevitably, the second I begin to drift off I’m ripped away from Dreamland by a slight wail. Scooping her up makes me feel good and I become immediately tired as I know then she’s ok.
There is a part of me that wants so badly for her to sleep through the night, or STTN as it’s known on those damned baby forums. You know the ones, filled with women in similar situations whose babies all sleep 12 hours a night. I picture them in their perfect little homes, babies in bright and cheery rooms, all waking in the mornings happy and giddy ready for the day. These women are well rested, beautiful, showered and made up. And then I look at Nugget who’s longest stretch of real sleep has been 3 hours. Oh, but if you want to count the 5 hours she slept when she was just days old then we can, but that was only because she lost way too much weight and we were instructed to supplement with formula for a day. Consistently, however, it’s been a shorter stretch and I relish the day I’ll awaken to daylight. That’ll probably be the day I strip the covers off in a panic because I think Nugget’s dead. We all have a dream, right? Well, I dream of sleep, which is just ironic.