1.31.10 (31/365)

I love sleep.
When I was pregnant, I never went through that "I just wish this kid would get out here so I can sleep normally at night again" phase because I was trying to be realistic. I knew that although I would not be getting up because of a pregnancy bladder, or because my son was kicking me from the inside out, or because there is not.a.single.position.that.is.comfortable, I did know I would be getting up with a newborn. I was petrified, because the baby in my belly loved to dance, jog, walk, skip, and maybe even can-can every hour of every day.

I guess when you think about it, a newborn baby is a pretty great trade-off, but go a week without sleeping for more than 3 hours in a row, and you might be changing your tune a little. Anyways, I soaked up every night that I did not have a baby monitor practically attatched to my head.

And then he came.

There were nights that I slept for 45 minutes, would be up for 1.5 hours, and would sleep for another 45 minutes before having to wake for another 1.5 hours. Don't get me started on the first night home from the hospital-- I got 1 hour of sleep. But now, a year into this gig, I look back on those nights more fondly (and much less tiredly) than I did while I was in the midst of it. It might be a rough-go in the beginning, but it's a good-go. After all, you ARE munching on a sweet little newborn ear while you are up watching infomercials at 3am.

The point of this whole story is this: I prayed and prayed for a baby that would sleep well, and I was MORE than blessed with one. Although he cannot be stopped for a minute to sit still while he's awake, when he sleeps... he sleeps well.