Well. After those few nights with a sick 200-degree baby glued to my back in a king size bed while I edged further and further toward falling off the damn bed already, things are back to normal. And by normal I mean I can’t stand for her to sleep in her room anymore and for the last few nights she’s been sleeping with us there I said it now shoot me.
But it’s so cute! And last night, she actually asked to go sleep in her room. And we took her there. And an hour later when she was crying for me I went in to find her soaking wet from waist to forehead, sweaty from what must have been a very long nightmare because both sides of her favorite pillow were also wet. I picked her up to lay her beside me in bed, and she was asleep before her head hit the sheets. This morning, when I rolled over to check her status she grinned at me. Well, hey, mama!, she said, handing me her sucky and signing that she was hungry.
We always said we wanted her back in our bed. We got the king size mcmansion bed for that reason, thinking that at the least, when a new baby arrived and was cuddled up to us, she would be unable to resist. Our plan loosely included waiting until she was old enough to understand “lay down, it’s time to go to sleep” and also hinged on being able to put her in the bed and leave, avoiding the 2 hour bedtime routine of the olden days. I’m not sure we’re there yet, but since I’m OK with sleeping in till 11, I’m moving toward acceptance of her 11 o’clock bedtime.
Melanie says I may want to rip my skin off in a few months when I can’t get comfortable and getting up to pee every 15 minutes wakes her up. But this morning after I let the cat out, the baby was dreaming when I came back to bed. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and said “choo-choo!” in her sleep. I’m not sure life gets any better than this, and I don’t want to miss a single moment.