On Sleep
I started to compose this smug little ditty three days days ago. It was all about peaceful, compliant babies who sleep (nearly) full nights right out of the womb.
I've heard a good dozen stories in the last several months from parents who'd had "angel babies." What makes an angel baby? If you're listening to these parents, these are the kids that can, among other things, switch off immediately, 3PO-style, and stay that way for at least four hours, every night.
(An aside: If four hours sounds to you like not at all enough to function, you're not alone. It's just I'm not much in the mood to talk about what flavor of masochist you have to be to fully enjoy parenting a newborn baby.)
Meg and I were both certain we'd had this perfect kind of kid. And I'll admit, he is perfect in that way only your child can be. But holy hell, is he getting squirmy.
I don't even have it bad. The beauty of being the father in a breastfeeding family is that when McSquirms starts flailing at 3am, your job is, at most, limited to strapping a fresh set of plastic pants on his rump and pulling the covers back over your head. Still, nights like last night are really starting to try those angel-baby-assumptions we'd made about the kid. He eats at a glacial pace (how many human beings do you know that takes an hour and a half to eat three ounces of anything?), and now that he's figured out he's got arms, he'll fight your every move just because he can.
Today was Meg's first day back teaching. She got a paltry three weeks off between birth and work. Plus, she had to operate on just under two hours of sleep. As I write, Ash has just blissfully drifted off. He's likely to stay that way, in this exact same position, all day. This means even more excitement on the night before Meg's second class tomorrow.
Oh well. So much for angel babies. Guess we'll just have to settle for the breathtakingly real one we've received.