The Wakeup Sequence

Ok. (Why do I feel lke starting every post with "ok"? Hopefully I don't start every conversation that way...) it's 3:42am. That was just about 2 hours to the minute from when he stopped eating. I must admit, I thought it would be a short sleep because it didn't seem like he ate much last time.

In case you're interested what the routine is, here's the sequence:

I awake to the sound of a tiny disturbance in the rhythm of Dominic's breathing, which 8 weeks ago I would've easily slept through but today might as well be the sound of a 747 landing on my head. I lay there, my eyes like saucers, listening for the next sound, hoping it will be something between nothing (which means I have to hope that I'm actually competent at baby-CPR from simply reading/memorizing the instructions from one of the zillion pregnancy books I read) and a whimper (which means I have to get up and feed him). What I'm wishing for as I lay there is for the breathing to return to its normal rhythm and after that, the superhuman ability to fall back to sleep instantly from this state of possible emergency. I get the whimper. Rats!

I look at the clock. Well, I'm supposed to remember to look at the clock but I frequently don't. So yesterday I just moved it for the 75th time to another new place in the bedroom hoping that I will actually be able to see it from wherever I am when I realize I forgot. After I look at the clock, which I remembered this time, I try to remember what time it was when he stopped eating last. 2 hours. Darn. The calculation goes like this: if less than 1.5 hours, I begin hoping the whimper goes away and start worrying why does he need to eat so soon if it doesn't go away. If greater than 3 hours, I say quick prayer of thanks to God for such a long rest and continue the wakeup sequence. If between 1.5 and 3 hours, I say quick prayer of thanks to God that Dominic is still breathing, adding request for next sleep to exceed 3 hours, and continue wakeup sequence.

Next, I go to the bathroom. That is, I go if I remember to go before I pick Dominic up from the bassinette. Are you starting to see a pattern? It seems that even though I've been going through this sequence what feels like 10,000 times since 7 weeks ago, I still manage to forget at least one of the steps. Sleep deprivation? Hormones (or lack thereof)? Senility? This shall be one of the questions I ask God if we get to ask questions in Heaven.

It seems that Dominic's hearing is just as bionic as mine has become, for with the first tiny rustle of the comforter as I move to make my way from the bed to the bathroom, his whimper increases. (My theory is that the increase is what makes me forget to go.) After my restroom break, which these days the experience is just beginning to show signs of returning to normal, I try to remember to stop at the sink, fill the water glass, and carry it to the end table Eddie has set up as my feeding station before picking up Dominic. I remember to do this about 33% of the time.

Slippers on, water at the ready, I put on my glasses (this is the step I forgot this time), put a ponytail in my hair (another frequently forgotten step) and then pick up the now-squirming Angel from Heaven. "Dang, he is cute," I think to myself, "even in this pitch blackness!" We walk from my bedroom to his bedroom trying not to wake Daddy. (Tonight, Daddy is in Las Vegas for the N.A.R. convention, his first night away from the Cupcake, so I didn't have to worry about that.) As I place him on the changing table pad, he begins to remember we have this diaper-changing pit stop before mealtime, and he starts to cry. I've tried everything to stop this cry, which usually only happens during nighttime feedings, but to no avail. Talking or singing to him, leaving his blanket around his upper half, picking him back up for a moment, playing with his feet... everything I've tried so far just seems to increase the volume, probably because all are just postponing mealtime further. I'm hoping he'll someday appreciate that meals are a lot more enjoyable when your bottom is clean, but for now, I just hope the neighbors are insulated from his hysteria.

Once the diaper is changed and I pick him up, the cries vanish in exchange for him beginning to nuzzle and sometimes suck on whatever of my skin is most handy: arm, neck, etc. It is usually right about this second that I realize I forgot to go to the bathroom, if I forgot, so I ask myself if I should set him back in the bassinette and go (and thus bring on a cry that could wake the dead) or just try to tough it out until he's done eating. At this moment, I usually don't have to go very badly, so I usually decide to tough it out, forgetting (yes, there it is again) that I will likely regret this decision in about 10 seconds.

I carry the nuzzler to the reclining chair. I sit, attempting to get the feeding pillow thingie (called "My Brest Friend") situated around me with one hand as I hold him with the other. The pillow thing is really a 2-handed job (note to self: attempt to invent a 1-handed breastfeeding pillow), so sometimes it ends up on the floor. In this case, I have to do one of those deep knee bends with the 12-lb Angel that I hope is a) giving me the great legs that I hope will go with the svelt figure that I hope the breastfeeding is giving me, and b) adding years to my life so I can live to see Dominic married and have a grandchild even though I waited until I was an ancient relic to have him. Dominic's sense that eating is imminent is beginning to transform him into a panting, squirming pirana. So I click the pillow fastener, prepare the "head side" by putting a small pillow under it and placing a clean cloth diaper on top to catch milk dribbles or attacks of spit-up, position him, wrestle his bottom arm out of the way to down between my stomach and his, and get him latched on before the transformation is complete. Those of you who know me know that I am not exactly the fastest gun in the west, so the latch-on often resembles the scene in Jurassic Park where the T-Rex ravenously chomps down on the outhouse with the attorney in it. 2 seconds of excruciating pain later, all is well! Dominic and mommy are both happy!

That is, until I realize I forgot to look at the clock and can't see it (seems I have that problem licked with the new clock location, though). Or that I forgot my glasses (which will explain why this post might have some severe typos in it). Or that I realize I really do have to go to the bathroom after all. Or that I forgot the water glass. Or that I forgot something else that is now about 1/2 inch beyond my reach. Nevertheless, I usually manage to fight off the frustration with the feeling that can only come from snuggling with a living, breathing gift from God. I thank God again for this amazing opportunity and, being the overemotional schlub that I am, I struggle not to cry with joy as I pray.

I still can't believe this is real.

Dominic has been finished eating for nearly an hour now, so that means I'm missing that all-important sleep time. Guess I'd better sign off. Wish me 3+ hours before the next entry!