Single Child

Who in their right mind decides that they’re going to have a second child? Is it a decision that comes while lying in bed, thoroughly exhausted and defeated, using the lull in crying time to gather a few breaths of sleep before the next round of wailing begins? Or maybe it happens in the morning, when the eyelids have become sheets of lead due to flashes of sleep that only comes when and hour before it's time to get up?  Is that when people say, you know what, I can’t wait to do this again! 

Please, don’t get me wrong, I love my son more than life itself. I love him without compromise or conditions, and unlike I’ve ever loved anything in this world. 

But he’d better get used to dog fur. Because all of his future siblings will have it.

Since entering the crawling stage a few weeks ago, he’s slept all of 6 hours. Total. It is a sleep he fights tooth and nail. Well, I guess in his case gum and nail. He hates it and refuses to go down without a fight. He demands the boob. Oh how he loves that sweet boob. He lies beside it, resting his hand on it for safe keeping even if he’s not nursing.

I know, I know, cry it out, right? You just have to be tough. Everyone has advice in this department. But when that little guy gets to screaming I’m up. Last night we had him down. And then the dogs started barking. The next thing you know it was 12:32 and still no shut eye. I came very close to shedding tears myself...

My wife is a bit better at the tough parenting approach. But this makes sense, she and him are perhaps the two most stubborn people I’ve ever met. I’m merely caught in their clash. Last night, I rocked him for two hours, patted his butt, and then we let him have it out. He screamed like a freight train for the next few hours. And it took everything I had not to go in there and rock him, because I knew it would only start the process anew. 

When I tried to rock him, he tugged at my nose, gouged my eyes and took a swing with his tiny, drool drenched fist at my face. The baby whisperer I am not.

Meanwhile the dogs sigh heavily, wondering why I can’t get the little noise maker to quiet down. But our house is impossible to situate. Someone’s always busy. Get the baby to sleep and dogs want to play. Get the dogs settled and the cat wants to come inside. Get the cat inside and the baby’s awake. Yeah, let’s add another kid to this recipe!

In all seriousness, I wouldn't change a thing about my son.  Fatherhood is the hardest but at the same time most rewarding job of my life.  And once we get this guy sleeping through the night, which by the looks of things will be when he’s 12, I am going to enjoy the sound of ______. Yes, _______. That blank right there, that's the sound of sweet sweet quiet.  I'll bet my parents are laughing there butts off right now...

Sleeping Alone...

For the past two nights I have slept like a baby and because of this I feel somewhat guilty.  As my wife’s mid section grows, her sleeping has gotten more and more erratic.  She takes anywhere between 8-10 bathroom trips each night, tossing from side to side and using as much space as possible while doing so. 

A few days ago she came down with a cold that left her completely miserable, especially at night.  She began snoring heavily—like scared the dogs heavily—so the other night while she was tossing and turning, I snuck out.  I snuck out on my pregnant, sick wife, what a jerk.

I headed down the hall for the guest room.    The bed felt a bit softer than normal, the pillows were fluffed as if they had been prepared to my liking for a good night’s rest.  Oh wow, I thought, stretching out, this is nice. I didn't know it could feel like this.  I closed my eyes, quickly surrendering to a deep uninterrupted sleep. 

I woke up the next morning refreshed, in fact I had overslept; my wife woke me, asking me if I planned on going to work, (I had forgotten to put the do not disturb sign out).  I hopped out of bed well rested and recharged, ready to take on the day with a smile on my face.  I Pushed back the tinge of guilt, got dressed and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.  School was pushed back a couple of hours due to the rain hurricane so I kissed my loving wife on the forehead and went off to work.

I thought it was a one time thing.  I vowed not to do it again.  The next night, we said goodnight before going to sleep, like any other happily married couple who doesn’t keep things from each other.  I tried to sleep, drifting at times before my attention was jerked by the tossing and sneezing and snoring.  I waited until around midnight and made my move.  I climbed out of bed, walking softly down the hall to my luxurious unoccupied sleep suite, pulling back the covers and digging in for a second night of peaceful sleep. 

I’m awful, I know.  My poor pregnant wife is sick and here I am slinking off down the hall to oblivion.  I don’t want us to become a couple who sleeps in separate beds, I like sleeping next to her….or at least I did.  It feels like betrayal, but then, when I’m hanging on to a sliver of the mattress, grasping for dear life, scared of just what is happening behind my back,  I start to think about the empty bed…calling my name from the soft cottony uninhibited sheets.  I'm so weak....well rested....but weak.