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May 20, 2007

100 Days

The first three months (Feb 19 – May 19):

Yesterday, Milo, you turned 100 days old. We’ve made it through the first three months, the time at which according to Rebecca, I should be getting some tiny slice of my old existence back. Not sure about Rebecca, but at no time in my old existence was there a small little baby crying so close to me that I didn’t care about it. I care about the baby, a lot, just not that at this moment and for the several moments before this one it is crying.

Ok, turns out I do care since I just picked you up, laid you across my chest and belly, found your pacifier, patted your bottom and you fell asleep. This all took less than 60 seconds. So if this soothing goes so quickly how come I didn’t do it 10 minutes ago? Because it wouldn’t have worked then. You hadn’t fought sleep long enough. You get this from your father. I never fight sleep. I realized very early on, my mother claims from when I was only three weeks old, that it’s a losing battle. Sleep will always win. Please baby, won’t you please let sleep in.

So now you lay sleeping soundly on your stomach beside me. I delight in your sleep. Never before have your father and me, your parents, talked so much about sleep. I am fairly certain that the amount of time spent talking about your sleep far exceeds the amount of time we spend talking about all other topics combined.

To start with, the one aspect of your sleep we solved quickly, was putting you on your stomach. Of course we were advised against this by every book, doctor and childless friend, but we know that it is the only way you will sleep for longer than five minutes at a time. While we can generally get three hours out of you at a time during the night, for two consecutive nights we got five hours from you. We look forward to those days returning. Why your stomach? Because if we lay you on your back like we are supposed to, you flail your tiny little arms with such gusto you wake yourself up with the excitement. Conducting night symphony orchestras you father says. When you were very small, we could bundle you like the little burrito that you are and you would sleep rather peacefully, but as the weeks went on, you grew frustrated with not being able to flap about. Your father could still coax you into thinking bundling was comfy and successfully locked you hands behind your back, but soon this too stopped working as you grew too big for the receiving blankets we used for bundling.

Don’t think we abandoned you to tummy sleeping without a care, we worried the first few nights we tried you on your stomach, checking in on your very often, and flipping you to your back once we felt your were soundly asleep, we soon grew comfortable in your abilities to stay alive through the nights. You lift your head up remarkably well, my precious cobra asana king. If fact, you never really had the floppy head of newborns. You were born with an incredible alertness and a firm neck.

I love how you wake up in the morning and your face is puffy from sleep and wrinkled from the sheets. You father would always says that about me, but I never really appreciated how completely adorable that must look until you came around. I think we awake similarly, not only puffy faced but a bit disoriented. This is how we meet several times through the night. Puffy Faced and Disoriented. What a cute fest we must be. But listen Baby, let’s meet a bit less frequently shall we?

Oh and you stretch, so completely and deeply, it looks positively delicious.

We’ve twice or so caught you rolling from your back to your stomach. A huge achievement! I think when you have gained mastery of this you will sleep better. I hope.

We’ve done a lot more together than only think of your sleep, but you know, it’s all a bit hazy for the significant lack of it.

Love, Mama
ps. I'm not just saying that, I really do already love you.
pps. Not sure about "Mama" yet, i might be a Ma, or a Mommy, or a Mom, but for now, Love, Mama

Posted by talia at May 20, 2007 10:59 PM