Wednesday night to Thursday morning was bad. It’s hard to remember that there used to be nights as bad as that. And were they? I can’t even tell for sure. My memory, as we’ve discussed, is unreliable.
M was up approximately every five minutes.
Okay, maybe not every five minutes all night long, but there were a few stretches where he’d just fall asleep, James or I would crawl back into bed, and start the drift back to dreamland only to be jolted back upright by the shrill demands of an uncomfortable baby.
He’s had a bit of a stuffy nose, and we’ve been doing what we can for him. The humidifier got cleaned and set up for a couple of nights, though last night and tonight, I didn’t bother because it hadn’t seemed to help. But he’s got the nose drops, and we’ve been very liberal with both the nasal aspirator (aka “booger snagler”) and the Vicks rub.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore at about four or five in the morning, and I brought him into bed. The problem with this situation is that bringing him into bed usually only happens when it’s within a half hour of wake-up-and-play time. So he was wide-eyed and raring to go at about 5:30 or 6:00. I forget. I was tired.
So let’s jump to last night. After a pretty good day where he napped well, but I failed to nap at all for various and stupid reasons. James and I go to bed around 10:30. M made one little peep at around 10:00, and went back to sleep. I was cautiously optimistic. We were just drifting off when he started to cry. James went in. James came back to bed. Five minutes later, I went in. I came back to bed. Five minutes later… are we sensing a pattern?
I think I cried more than M did last night. Because I was on very little sleep. I knew I couldn’t take another night like that. James was wonderful, though, and he brought M into bed at around midnight. A half an hour later, M was climbing around, talking and smiling, like, “Hey guys, isn’t it time to get up and eat our muffins now?”
James took him back to his room, got him to sleep, and when he came back into bed, he told me he’d noticed M would wake up every time the heat would go on. He figured that with the door closed the way it was, the fan turning on was changing the air pressure in his room, which one can be very sensitive to if one’s sinuses are already dealing with some pressure from all the extra mucus and stuff.
When he woke us up the next time, six hours later, I rolled over to face my husband. “You’re a genius,” I said. “You’re the genius-est.” And I thanked him for the six hours of sleep. Because if he hadn’t been there, my foggy brain would have never put those things together in a million, billion years.