I'll sleep when I'm dead...

Ah, the many, many things about parenthood that you've heard about but never quite understood or believed. Probably the biggest I didn't plan on was sleep. Precious sleep.

First, when my son was first born it was the waking every few hours to eat. After awhile those spells grew longer and longer apart, so I actually got blocks of sleep.

Next were the nights of relative quiet (sleeping through the night), but then life's anxieties and stresses kept me awake. Seems like there is a direct relationship between the nights I don't get much sleep and the nights when Jimmy wakes up crying or fussing. The nights I finally get my mind to quiet down at 3 am are the ones where Jimmy has nightmares or is cold or whatever. I typically can crawl out of bed and plug in the pacifer and he goes back to sleep. One night last week, that didn't work after two tries. Finally, I brought him into bed with me (and yes this was a night that was extremely anxiety ridden and despite a couple hours of TV watching and reading, I still couldn't get my mind to relax). He fussed for a few moments but then he finally drifted off to sleep, as did I. I remember waking up with that cute little pacifier filled face and remembering the days when we slept together all the time. Memories of sleep deprivation that I actually cherish.

Now of course, Jimmy can crawl out of the crib whenever he wants and does whatever he wants (I call it his Danger Boy routine). Climbing all over furniture, turning on the TV, playing his special messages on the answering machine, chasing the cat, and even playing in the bathroom. This morning he did this at 5:30 am (at least that's when he woke me up...I don't have any idea when he woke up).

So sleep comes in batches again. I guess a night of good sleep is a myth in my house. It will be until I'm dead... or perhaps when Jimmy is in college.