blogs

I am not a nice person when I am trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

In fifth grade, when I cared much much much more about not offending people than I do now, I actually was fairly rude to some girl who tried to wake me up for my turn at the fire watch during a camping trip.

I don't remember exactly what happened -- the gist of my memory basically includes her nagging horrible voice whining incessantly, "wake up, it's your turn to watch the fire," and my voice, poor and pathetic from lack of sleep, responding politely, "go away! I'm trying to sleep!"

Freckles makes fun of me for a similar incident that happened when Baby J was two months old. Baby J felt like waking up at 2am. I felt like sleeping.

"Just eat!" Freckles imitates me, using a voice that sounds more appropriately suited to a truck driver addicted to crack, "Mommy's sllleeppiing."

Anyway.

Last night, Baby J couldn't sleep because he has a cold. The cold came in during the night, settling over his delicate system as slowly but insistently as the fog, and he wasn't happy about it.

He wanted to sleep, too, but the cold blocked his nose and made it hard for him to breathe.

It's hard to wipe your nose when you're six months old. It just doesn't really happen -- and so he was unhappy.

One of the great things about families is that if one person is unhappy, probably everyone else is, too. Freckles and I tried to help Baby J get back to sleep, but, periodically, he'd wake up miserably and not know what to do.

We tried to be comforting as we petted his hair and attempted to wipe his nose.

(Is it just us? Baby J will NOT let us wipe his nose. His mouth? Fine, whatever. But get near his nose with a cloth and, well, the look we get is reminiscent of the Rice Cereal Escapades.)

I don't really actually have a point here.

Suffice it to say, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

My baby has a cold.

But right now? He's asleep -- finally! And he looks happy and peaceful and warm and soft and I'm about to go to sleep too.

And I'm so so so so so so so so so so thankful to have him.

I told my best friend, AMo, that Baby J is the best thing I have ever done, and the words don't even do it justice.

I guess Baby J has changed me in ways I never thought possible. No other man ever could have made me miss sleep and not descend into a fit of irrational murderous rage. No other baby could possibly inspire such love.

It's violent, actually, in its intensity.

I may not be a perfect person, but I love Baby J fiercely.

And now, rather than continuing to ramble myself into sleepless oblivion, good night.

And happy Thanksgiving.