Babies. They’re so Ironic.

Every night for the past week Trombone has woken between 10 and 11 pm. Saint Aardvark goes down and tries to get him back to sleep but he fusses until I feed him. (Trombone, not Saint Aardvark.) Then he sleeps till morning (usually 5:30 or, this morning, 7.) Every night, without fail, I go to bed between 9 and 9:30 only to be woken by cries just at the beginning of my sleep cycle, ending up asleep for the night around 11.

Finally I worked it out. I’m just going to stay awake until he wakes up, I thought. Yes, I still end up awake until 11 but at least my sleep isn’t interrupted. It’s not the lack of sleep that eats at my soul (this week), it’s the cruel joke that is waking up, thinking it might be early morning then realizing it’s actually 20 minutes after you turned the light out. Groan.

Here I sit, trying to stay up till 10. You’d think it was New Year’s Eve or something. Pathetic. My mind is trying to wheedle me to bed. It says, maybe tonight he’ll sleep through. It says, it’s awfully quiet up there. He slept through the smoke alarm going off tonight – twice! (goddamn overzealous smoke alarms – it’s ROAST PEPPERS get over yourself) But I know the only way to get him to sleep through is to not go to bed. If I stay up till 10 or 11, he’ll sleep through. Because babies are dastardly and do the opposite of what you expect. Oh dammit now he knows I know.

Happy March Eve.