Henry woke me around 5:00, and by 5:45 he was back to sleep and I had to make the kind of decision that these days confronts me again and again and AGAIN and dominates my mental and physical landscape: Do I try to go back to sleep at this point and then have to drag myself up again in 15 minutes or 45 minutes or an hour, feeling nauseated and resentful? Or do I stay awake, because I'm already awake enough to feel okay about that idea, but then later feel exhausted and irritable because I should have slept more?
I got up. It's 8:15, too soon to call the decision. Ask me again around 2:30 this afternoon.
I'm up and down as usual. Sometimes I'm despairing because I can't seem to turn my mind to even one small thing such as a quick answer to a short email. Or because I seem to spend all evening pinned under a newborn, and then bedtime comes and goes with no change in the situation. Other times I'm eating a bowl of ice cream at the computer and I run out of computer stuff I want to do and so I sit there aimlessly feeling all groovy and bored. Or I get a bunch of things done one after another and feel all successful. Or I look back and realize I've been gradually successful: it's uphill, and things don't get done as often as they should, but for example Rob changed his sheets this weekend when he was cleaning his room, and I had to change William's when he woke up wet a day or two later, and then last night I was clock-watching for the kids' bedtime and realized I had a couple of free minutes to change Edward's crib sheet, and so you see it DOES get done bit by bit and that's encouraging.
But then at 5:00 in the morning I'm nursing the baby, and he's writhing and keeps latching on and off, and when I burp him he spits up on my finally-got-it-laundered shirt and on my finally-got-it-showered self. And then I change his diaper and he spits up a little more, onto his finally-put-him-in-fresh-clothes outfits and into his finally-washed-that-kid's-hair hair, the changing of which and the washing of which had previously been one of my encouraging accomplishments. And then as I sit back down with him, my body sore from sleeping in the recliner most of the night, he fills his freshly-changed diaper. At 5:30 a.m., things can seem cyclical and unending. But now it's 8:30 and I'm dressed and damp-haired and blogging, and eating from a 2-pound bag of chocolate-covered dried cherries, and ignoring those suspicious sounds from the other room, and things are good again. These first few months are so nuts.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...