More Sleep, No More

So she, (our baby) Noelle, kicked and turned and woke and rewoke and what an awful night of non-sleep it was. To the point that I thought, Okay, let’s sleep train! And I brought her to her room, and she wailed and wailed, No Mommy!! And then I felt her head and she was warm, and back to bed with us she came, for more no sleep.

It was not like this when my husband Fotis was not here. We had more room. I and she (and he, somewhere afar) slept better. But if Fotis is to come back (he leaves again today) next Tuesday, then we do have to get this dealt with. Which may mean her crying, but it’s just so heart wrenching. Then again, who can subsist on no sleep? And kicks in the nose?

My Grandma Rose once really let me and my older sister have it, when we were staying with her. The first night, we got to sleep in her plush, red satin spread on top bed. We felt we had arrived. But when she woke the next morning with my foot in her mouth she shouted, "That’s it!" and pointed us, whimpering, into her living room, with an L-shaped, hard beige couch, for us to share, our heads touching. My sister berated, "You ruined it for the both of us!" I could only say in defense that I’d been asleep. And was probably about 3 years old at the time.

Will Noelle be banished from the Kingdom of the family bed? Will she learn or be forced to sleep alone? Fotis suggested that we put a crib in our room so she is not lonely, and our limbs are not the target of her Russian Roulette of jabs and outright punches.

Where do I pull a crib from? I guess a pack ‘n play. Everything about this makes me immediately tired currently.

I want a hammock. I saw and ad for Las Ventanas in Mexico, some resort that Jennifer Aniston frequents. I want to go there, to frolic and just be subsumed by the plush, white beach chairs. To have a fan breeze on me. To be served sliced pineapple, even if I don’t feel like eating it. Fruit makes you bloated, especially if you’re pale and in a bikini.

Mexico. Los Cabos. Such a nice alternative thought to 54 degrees, Farmington, bed trauma.

Oh, Noelle, I know that this too shall pass. But I fear I may be in a body bag by then.

Love,

Your mom

Jennifer Dulos also blogs at www.fivemakesseven.com