And so then I was day dreaming about what I would do if I were to spend eight hours away from home and baby on a weekend day. Because I can be a bit petty, really.
I concluded I would go to a hotel and have uninterrupted sleep, because the last time I got that was September 22, when my husband kept the baby all night so I could rest.
He's a really nice guy. So nice in fact that last night he was like, "I looked into it. The issue is that hotels just aren't set up for someone who wants a room all day." And then he volunteered to take a whole night shift with the baby that very night.
(It should be noted here that my husband tends to think of me as being much less happy with my lot in life than I tend to regard myself as feeling. It's a combination of our differing temperaments, I think. So he tries to solve all sorts of problems that I didn't even know existed but that he would say I told him about in the first place. The sleep thing isn't exactly one of those, but it isn't not one of those exactly either.)
I am also reminded, by a well-timed bite on my leg as I am typing this, that the baby in question is cutting teeth. This may not have been the best time to try changing things up on her. I did leave her favorite teether easily accessible for them.
I went to bed at nine. And later I awoke, because a baby was crying. I am unfamiliar with the acoustics of the spare room, but I know it's a single sheet of drywall between it and our bedroom (because I have seen the result of a nail into the "wall"). I wasn't sure where the crying baby was actually located.
I counted to 100, losing my place several times, and then I checked the time. Maybe it was already five am and my husband was too tired to tell me that it was my turn. That happens to me at six am all the time, and he's about eighteen inches away then.
Turns out it was ten to midnight.
I got out of bed. Because why lie around listening when I could be helping. I wasn't going to fall asleep. They were on the couch.
I held the baby for about ten minutes, threw some boobs at her, etc. And then when she lost interest in me in favor of flopping about on the couch, I gave her back to her father and went back to sleep. He protested this at the time, but I thought it was salvageable.
Over the next period of time, I dozed and woke and heard grizzles and cries and so forth. Eventually, I checked the time again, thinking possibly it was five.
It was one thirty in the morning. This time I found them in the bed. My husband reported that our precious baby had not slept since last I'd gotten myself up. I declared this experiment well intentioned, but unproductive. He agreed and handed over the baby.
I put her to sleep and I couldn't really tell you if/how many times she may have awakened between two and six, when she got up for the day. I've literally already forgotten.
My poor husband was super miserable before he left for work. He made some complaints about long term sleep deprivation, the sleep requirements of a teething child versus a functioning adult, etc.
My poor baby is overtired and teething and more barnacle-like than normal this morning.
I feel fine. A little tired, but no more so than most mornings between waking up and coffee into bloodstream.