3:12 a.m.
Wait. 3:12 a.m.?
Aida wasn't awake. She'd been asleep since 6:30 p.m. She always wakes up before now. On a normal night, this might be her second time crying out for help, food, attention, anything.
I lay there for a moment contemplating the situation. Bad thoughts flooded in, most of them colored by what I've read about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
Could it be too hot in her room? I did leave the fan on, right? Could her swaddle have come loose and strangled her? smothered her? Did someone creep in through the cracked window and...?
Before another worst-case scenario could seize me, I was standing over her crib, squinting through the dark to see her little body draped in a pink blanket.
Still.
I leaned closer to see if I could detect any breath. My arm accidentally tapped the crib rail and shook the bed. Her head rolled from the left side to the right.
Aida's alive. She's sleeping.
I crept away, climbed back in bed and lay there awake, considering what could possibly be happening.
Could this be it? Could Aida be finally sleeping through the night?
She'll be four months old on Saturday. This is the point at which a lot of babies do start sleeping through the night, right?
It was an exciting proposition: sleep. I haven't had a straight eight hours sleep since a couple weeks before Aida was born. What a luxury this might be.
But just as I was about to fall in love with the idea of it, worry took hold.
That day, I had spent about two and a half daylight hours with Aida. Total.
In the morning, around 7 a.m., I lifted her from the crib, changed her diaper, fed her, cuddled her, talked to her, played with her, then started rocking her back to sleep before my mom took over and I went off to work.
When I came home at 5 p.m., I had only an hour and a half with her before I was putting her back in the crib for the night. Though I want her to stay up later, her limit at this time of the day is usually only an hour awake. And if I put her down after 5:30 p.m., she doesn't usually wake up again until midnight.
But at least we have the night feedings.
She cries. I rise and go to her in the dark, change her diaper, nurse her to calm and rock her back to sleep. In our shared exhaustion, I have time to run my fingers over her soft hair, feel her pudgy toes, offer her my finger to grasp while she nurses. Often, she circles my chest with her palm, reaches up at times to grab a strand of my hair dangling toward her face and occasionally stops to look up into my face and smile. After sufficient rocking and swaying and patting, her head wobbles heavy on my shoulder. I lower her into her crib, tiptoe back to my bed and wait for her next cry.
If she starts sleeping through the night, this ritual is over. All we have are the daylight hours. And right now, on a typical work day with her current sleep schedule, that leaves two to three hours of mommy-and-Aida time out of a 24 hour cycle.
Is this really going to be our life? I wondered.
A few minutes later, Aida cried.
 |
| Asleep. |
This post made me cry. I felt the same feelings with Larkin, when I was back to work at 12 weeks. I was always afraid I'd miss something important or be forgotten, or become unimportant. If you can take time off to spend home with her, do it. I think you'll discover something unexpected, that she's not going anywhere, and that she will always know you. And she really won't remember this time (and you won't either). She knows you are the smell and fell and touch of comfort. I traveled alot when Larkin was a baby and she has no memory of it. She still knows me as a comfort, because I csred, whether I was there or not. Take what time you need, get some sleep if you can, and know that your relationship is only going to grow. She will become a big girl and love you. She is for ever and knows you, in a way you will soon remember you know yourself. You can't loose her if you don't want to. Working is a good thing if you love your work. Our daughters need to know we can take care of ourselves, and be fulfilled in many ways. You are an amazing mom.
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