Adam Mansbach, I am with you.
I haven’t read “Go the F To Sleep” yet, but I will. In my mind the past few nights I have been writing versions of it. Anyone who has sat up with a baby must have thought along the lines at some time or another. They just push you, and push you, and push you a little bit more.
Lola has been up and down like a jack-in-the-box for the past five nights now, and I don’t know why! Her first little tooth is cutting through the gum, it’s true. But she doesn’t seem especially bothered by it, and I rubbed a little bonjela on a few times just in case. She has no temperature. Her digestive system is running like a clock. She’s eating pureed chicken liver and artichokes and potatoes and asparagus and beans and carrots and pumpkins happily, and enjoying spoonfuls of prune, banana, apple and pear and peach. She’s drinking water, after deciding she doesn’t like juice much. And we are sneaking formula into her cereals, although she still won’t take a bottle.
Could it be my milk? How does one tell if one’s milk has run dry? Since becoming pregnant again I can feel my milk production has gone down a lot (alas my poor boobs, I knew you well), but she seems to be getting something. Or have I just become a giant human pacifier? Night after night she sucks herself to sleep and I gingerly place her in her crib, as if she is a live bomb. One small wrong move, that little hand tenses up, and it all starts again.
I know we must somehow move to putting her in her cot awake so she can learn to go to sleep without my decreasingly bountiful boobs. I am kind of terrified of trying it though. In the daytime she naps best when she’s wedged between two pillows, as if she’s being hugged. But I am scared to leave her with pillows at night. So we do the jack-in-the-box routine, and I dream of somehow getting her to give in to nice, long, restful nights for the both of us.