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(Not-so) Sweet sleep

Written by: Suzanna November 01 2011 Whoever coined the term “sleeping like a baby” was either delusional or was only familiar with narcoleptic babies. Either way, he clearly never met my little man. Of all the hobbies that Jacob has at the ripe old age of three weeks—eating, pooping, crying, and sleeping—sleeping is at the...

Written by: Suzanna

Whoever coined the term “sleeping like a baby” was either delusional or was only familiar with narcoleptic babies.

Either way, he clearly never met my little man. Of all the hobbies that Jacob has at the ripe old age of three weeks—eating, pooping, crying, and sleeping—sleeping is at the bottom of the totem pole. So far at the bottom of the totem pole, in fact, that it must be a few thousand feet underground. Heck, it might be so far down there that it has taken up residence in China. That would explain why we have such trouble getting there.

Since Jacob was born, he has proved that he is of a superior class of humanity that can stay away for days on end with no need for sleep (or at least it SEEMS like days on end). His most recent record was set this past Sunday when he stayed awake from 7:30 in the morning until 6:00 that evening. It trumped his previous record of eight hours, and I could tell from the look in his (amazingly) non-bloodshot eyes, that he was proud.

Because Tom and I are NOT from the same superior class, we need sleep. Lots of it. I am pretty sure that Jacob knows this and is determined to train us out of our weakness. At multiple points throughout the day and night, with tireliss devotion, he plays his own little made-up game called MMGPC or Make My Gullible Parents Cry. His favorite way to win the game is to pretend to be asleep for a few minutes. (Always after at least 30 minutes of walking, rocking, snuggling, feeding, etc.) At this point, Tom and I tiptoe quietly into our room and lay him down. We breathe a deep sigh of relief … followed by a sigh of sadness … followed by tears. You see, by the time we have breathed our sigh of relief, Jacob is already awake again and crying. Not tears of sadness like ours, mind you, but tears of joy from having won his little game once again.

Determined to give him a run for his money, Tom and I have tried everything when it comes to getting The Champ to sleep. Walking the floor with him, giving him a bath, putting him in the swing, taking him out of the swing, singing to him, not singing to him (This seems to work better. If you’ve ever heard me sing, you understand why), drinking whiskey, letting him drink whiskey. The list goes on. (By the way, just kidding on those last two. I think. Not sleeping has a funny way of messing with your memory.)

It’s been a matter of trial and error figuring out what he does and doesn’t like when it comes to bedtime. (And when you yourself are going on an hour of sleep for the past two days, there is a great presence of error in the midst of the trial.) For now, there doesn’t seem to be much of a common thread that precedes his eventual meeting with Mr. Sandman.

Of course, I’m sure that either he’ll get tired (pun intended) of his little game eventually, or we will learn to sleep like horses, standing up with our eyes open instead of in our beds … snuggled deep into a mountain of soft covers … and plush pillows … in utter silence … and darkness …

Uh, sorry, drifted into a bit of daydream there. Where was I? Oh, yes, awake, as usual.

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