The last time I wrote here, my baby boy was just starting to roll around. Three months later, he is crawling, sitting, and pulling himself up to standing using the bars of his playpen. Yesterday his first tooth peeked through, and today came his second. The last few weeks, in particular, I feel he has really jumped from babydom into toddlerhood.
But these developmental changes have not been the object of my thoughts. I have been focused, nay, obsessed, with one thing: Sleep. My sleep, baby's sleep, my partner's sleep.
By dark, we've been trying to teach baby to sleep through the night. By daylight, we analyse and strategise, and I've been seeing an insomnia expert for my own sleep troubles.
We've been living in a sort of chronic crisis state, every day a juggle of naps, anxiety, failed attempts at sleep, timekeeping, rocking, jiggling, back-breaking sessions of patting over the cot, sleeping tablets, camomile teas, hot showers and carb-heavy meals. Three-hour baby screaming sessions. Tearful phonecalls for emergency assistance. Arguments over which partner is more in need of sleep. Arguments over resettling techniques. Deal-cutting over which parent has to wake up when. And, let's not forget, several jubilant morning awakenings after seven glorious straight hours of unconsciousness.
When I say it has been a crazy time, I mean it literally. I went a bit mad. I became so fixated on sleep that I lost all perspective. I couldn't think about anything else, and it seemed to me that Caroline didn't exist anymore. A whole month went by when I didn't socialise once without Conrad. More than once I lay on my kitchen floor at 5am and sobbed with sheer exhaustion and despair, only to find that, after a brisk walk and a few strong cups of tea, I actually have managed to cope quite adequately with my day.
But then it was Summer, and though the rains have stayed, my personal fog has lifted. I realise I must savour these last pleasurable breastfeeding sensations before a full set of teeth turn it into a battle. I will gaze on that gorgeous gummy grin before it is forever changed by tiny white teeth. I love that my knees, thighs and hands are such ready supports for a baby attempting to get vertical by any means necessary. Soon he won't need me as a stepping stone, but will be running around on his own. I adore Conrad's triumphant smiles when he pulls himself up yet again. So, this too shall pass, and one day I will again sleep uninterrupted.
