Last night Caitlin was asleep by 9:15, the baby by 7:30, and the hubby was passed out in the recliner on a heating pad by 10. Yessirreee. It was just me and a bottle of Australian merlot. I caught up on blogland and my e-mail, threw back a few loads of laundry, and enjoyed not one, but nearly three glasses of wine, as well as a few Girl Scouts Thin Mint cookies. Woo hoo! Party time for mama. Normally I’m in bed by 10, but since today is my day off I decided to live on the edge and I didn’t crawl into bed until 12:30 a.m.
Big. Freaking. Mistake.
I woke to Amelia crying at 4 a.m. At first it was one of those “be vewy, vewy quiet and the baby will find her thumb and soothe herself back to sleep” wakings. But she continued to cry and I could tell something was wrong. I went in to her room and poor baby had thrown up unchewed pieces of red grape (she ate probably a dozen grapes for dinner that I had cut into teeny pieces) and was curled up in the farthest corner of her crib away from her little digestive mishap. Then Caitlin woke up and then the hubby woke up and the dogs were up and I found myself giving the girls a bubble bath at 5 a.m.
Usually at our house sleep deprivation falls into the following scenarios:
Mama and Daddy go to bed by 10. Both girls sleep soundly all night.
Mama goes to bed by 10 and Daddy stays up late working until midnight. The 3-year-old wakes up at 5:30 demanding Dora, French Toast sticks, and apple juice shaken, not stirred.
Mama and Daddy both stay up until midnight. Ditto on above for the 3-year-old, plus the baby wakes up just because at 1 a.m., just as mama and daddy have slipped into a deep sleep.
Mama and Daddy have client meetings the next day. Ditto on all of the above, plus the baby’s diaper leaks at 3 a.m.
Mama and Daddy have a few glasses of wine and stay up until at least midnight. Ditto on all of the above, a thunderstorm rolls through at 4 a.m., the neurotic dog 40-pound-dog whose nails haven’t been clipped in two years insists on getting in our queen-size bed between the two of us, the electricity goes off, and the 70-pound-dog feels left out and cold noses me at 5 a.m. with his dog treat breath.