For 10 weeks, Suzianne never slept more than four consecutive hours. Around week 9, she was only sleeping in 1.5 hour stretches.
I prayed, chanted and danced in circles hoping that by some miracle, she’ll learn to sleep at night.
Suddenly, week 11 arrives and she’s sleeping for 6 and 7 hours at a time. As I type this, she’s been asleep 3.5 hours since her last feeding, which was preceded by 7.5 hours of sleep!
And how do I repay her for this amazing, body, mind and soul-rejuvinating rest she’s gifted me? I sneak into her room every few hours to make sure she’s alive.
She is alive, by the way.
I know because I hover over her tiny, swaddled up body trying to peep out some chest movement.
When I don’t see breathing, I poke her.
I POKE MY SLEEPING BABY.
It’s so funny to me how now matter what she’s doing–sleeping, not sleeping; pooping, not pooping–I’m questioning my parenting skills.
Why can’t I just let it be?!
I AM a good mother, dangit!
I am also a moron for nearly waking Suzianne up to prove she’s alive while she’s asleep. Geez o Pete.
BUT! I’m now a well-rested moron, so I’ve go that going for me, which is nice.