I don’t actually exist right now, today, or for the past 72-ish hours. My brain is slush. My neck is kinked in about five places. The ONLY place he’ll sleep is on the couch, on my chest, which doesn’t quite count as sleep for me. I wake up every time he moves, or coughs, or snorts through his snotty nose.
This is more than just his molars, but a cold maybe, that he caught from the waiting room when he got his flu shot? A reaction to the flu shot? Another ear infection? Another horrid office germ that Jim brought home? Whatever it is, I think we’re getting it now too.
I have nominated Jim for couch duty tonight, since tomorrow is Saturday and he can’t pull the I have to work in the morning card. He doesn’t mean it exactly as shitty as that sounds, but it’s just the fact of the situation. He has to work and I don’t, as in leave the house looking put together and acting like a real human being. I can, after all, sit on the couch with the sad child watching cartoons and daytime talk-shows, and eating frozen microwave meals. And believe me, we did!
But about sleep. Our baby does not co-sleep. Oh, I wish he would in times like these. But no. Our bed is a game, apparently. If we bring him to bed, his sits up, climbs onto our faces, climbs off the bed and walks around in the dark. It’s just as well, because he’s terrible to sleep with anyway. On the rare occasions that he has fallen asleep, he flops around like a fish and somehow ends up sideways, pushing both of us hanging off the side of the bed.
Maybe tomorrow, after a night’s sleep in a real bed, I might have something of substance to post. You know, when I signed up for NaBloPoMo, these were not the kinds of posts I had in mind.