Sleepless In Salt Lake City

At least SOMEONE'S getting some shut-eye 'round these parts.

Well DUH, you’re saying. You have a newborn in your house.

I know, I know!

But somehow, despite the legions of well-meaning yet extremely annoying people who advise pregnant women to “sleep while you can”, as if sleep is something you can stock up on at Costco, I forgot what it’s like to not never – no never – get more than three hours of sleep in a row. In fact, three consecutive hours is a glorious gift from God. I’d take three hours of sleep over three hours with Jake Gyllenhaal. And Jake, he’s my freebie, you know? So if Jake ever wants to get with me my husband has to be okay with it.

Just putting that out there.

Last night started out in stellar fashion. Put Violet to sleep around eight. Down without a fight. BOOM. Then breastfed the hell out of Henry and put him in his crib around ten-ish. Little dude slept until two! TWO! I stumble blearily down the hall and flawlessly executed another fantastic round of breastfeeding. He’ll go right back to sleep on that full tummy, I thought to myself.

Maybe that’s where I went wrong.

I got cocky. For the next two hours I listened to him snort and root around his crib like a piglet at the trough. Occasionally he’d lose his binky, the sniffling would lead to crying, the crying to wailing, and I’d have to drag ass in there and pop it back in his mouth.

Finally, at 4:30AM, after checking his diaper (for the tenth time) to see if that was to blame for the restlessness, I’d had enough and just brought him back to bed with me. But, no sleep for me, not yet. It was time for another round at my trough.

Listen Henry, you’ve got to sleep. Mama’s starting to FLIP OUT, I tried reasoning with him. But reasoning with a newborn is like trying to reason with your husband. Futile.

We finished up with the breastfeeding around 5:00, I tucked him in next to me and was just starting to snooze when I heard Serge clanking around in the kitchen like he lives alone. I mean, seriously dude. What are you doing in there? Rehearsing for a band? LOUD, is all I’m saying.

But whatever.


I entered the kitchen, a sour look on my face and this guy has the unmitigated gall to innocently ask, What’s your problem?

Oh my. I’ll show you my problem. Just let me put on this old cleat I used to wear while playing softball, now bend over, wouldja?

Article Posted 5 years Ago
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