Written by: Christopher Spicer July 05 2012 Remember when I was bragging about how easily I mastered five days of single parenthood? I tried a weekend of flying solo with parenting (well, Summit the dog […]
Written by: Christopher Spicer July 05 2012
Remember when I was bragging about how easily I mastered five days of single parenthood?
I tried a weekend of flying solo with parenting (well, Summit the dog was around to assist me too). This time to make things extra exciting, Everett was teething and not overly happy about it.
Now, our days were amazing. We played, laughed and talked. I didn’t have any problem. But unfortunately, after the day ends there is this thing called night. Night is when you’re supposed to sleep. Sleep doesn’t come easy when you’re dealing with a teething baby.
It was Friday night, and a UFC show was on TV. This seemed like a perfectly fine way to pass the last few hours before I decided to head off to bed. But first, I needed to send my little cherub off to sleep. In May, that was the easiest thing in the world to do, but also, in May, Everett didn’t have anything trying to tear through his gums.
We went through the usual nighttime routine and everything was going perfectly. I laid him down in his crib with the hope he’d quickly drift off to sleep. Now, there are three possible scenarios when putting Everett to bed. One is that he is so tired that he just falls asleep with absolutely no assistance (something I like to call the “pre-teething days”). A second is that he impersonates the sound of a speeding vehicle that fades off into the distance over and over again. Usually this noise is quiet enough that I can accompany him with “Hush Little Baby” or put on the Soothing Giraffe, and he’ll quickly drift off to wonderful Sleepville. The third option is what I got on this Friday. Everett erupts into an orchestra of paramount fury that drowns out any other possible noise, and so I have no choice but to pick him back up.
He laid his head on my shoulder and I rocked him up and down while whispering how much he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed. He started to feel heavy in my arms, and I had a glimmer of hope that the sleeping challenge was over and I could now watch guys beat each other up on TV. Then I laid him down on an invisible land mine and he exploded into a chorus about how he thinks he should be able to stay up to watch UFC too. The performance was so convincing that I finally conceded and brought him back downstairs.
I proceeded with the rocking and the hope he’d be in a deep sleep by the next commercial. I knew Everett wasn’t asleep, because he occasionally kicked out his foot right into one of my more sensitive areas. The game of gas pedal wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday night, and so I tried to shift how I was holding Everett, but he made it very clear that there was only one position he desired. We played several delightful games of “square daddy” while Everett gnawed on my shoulder.
Eventually, the kicking and gnawing and occasional fussing stopped, and it seemed Everett finally conked out. I then got off the chair and I triggered an alarm. Everett performed his favourite tune, and it was now clear that I wasn’t even allowed to leave the chair anymore. We then returned to our regularly scheduled program and I started to wonder if Emily would mind if I played fetch with Summit—the Everett edition.
The UFC eventually ended and my sanity was about ready to call it a day, too. Everett may not have wanted to sleep in his bed, but I was very, very, very ready to sleep in mine. Since my magic wand was getting fixed in the shop, I knew I had to find some other quick cure to my Friday night disaster. Everett’s nighttime routine consists of a feeding, and so he was well fed when I tried to lay him down several hours earlier. All his performing made him hungry and thirsty and so I resorted to the bottle for my last attempt to shipping Everett to Sleepville.
This is where Emily has it much easier. She has quick access to milk. I have to get my milk from the fridge and then get the milk to be room temperature. I had to perform this task while also dealing with a baby who was not impressed with the location change. Eventually I had a bottle of delicious breast milk ready, and to my greatest of happiness, I also had a boy ready to drink it.
This time around he fell into a breast milk coma, and I was able to slip him into his crib without any fuss. It was over two hours after I tried getting Everett to sleep, but he had finally drifted away. I was now able to do some of my own drifting to Sleepville.
Until four hours later, when Everett was ready to unleash his newest performance. I sure miss May.