12:32 p.m. I thought she would make it longer. Two and a half hours? That's it? Do you have tapeworms? Yet, you are adorable and I am sure that after I feed you this time you will drift off into a blissful sleep and not wake up until 4:00 a.m.
12:50. Burping. Well thinking about it at least. How do you say Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Awe-maw-denny-jawd? Alm-den-i-jawd? All-ma-deen-jad? What about Medvedev? Kim-Jong Il? Is the "J" silent like it is in Spanish? Seriously though, how do you say Mahmoud's name? No wonder these people don't like us... we're too lazy and elite to learn their language or at least learn to pronounce their names correctly. But, I mean, you're kind of asking for it. Ahmadinejad?
12:54. Burped. Finally. You'd think the way you devour the milk like I have the last utter on the planet would make for pretty good burping. But no, you'd rather take it all out in your diapers; deal with it through reflux. Sigh. You're still too cute to mind. This will not work when you are 13. Or 5. Or 25 for that matter. [At least I hope not. Though there is the strange fear and suspicion that I might forever be melted and broken down by your precious smile and button nose. Surely I will not love you this unconditionally forever, right? I mean, loving you this way means that mom sacrifices a lot. I put you first. What happened to me? I never knew I was selfish. But I am. Loving you makes me understand the depths of my own selfishness. Because I want to love you perfectly... and trying to attain perfection requires sacrifice.]
1:15 a.m. Swaddled. Sound asleep. Thank God. My toes are tingling and I can barely keep my eyelids open. Did I really ever voluntarily go to lock-ins? Why? Why did I give away precious hours of sleep? I was so young. So stupid. Sleep child! Sleep while you can! Why didn't anyone ever tell me this?
1:20 a.m. I'm so glad Ryan washed the sheets. They feel like velvet on my legs. My baby will sleep until 4 a.m. and I will lay in a pile of velvet and slip into sweet oblivion. I'm so glad my husband likes to have clean sheets... he's a good man. He picked out perfect sheets too... ahhh... it feels so amazing to be in this bed. Velvet...
2:40 a.m. The beginning of a whimper.
2:41 a.m. Don't you dare. Don't... Don't do it....Ohhhhh... God, please, please, please. I will call my grandma as soon as I wake up and tithe extra money this week, I will lose the irritability and even go to Africa or something if you want me to, please, just put her to sleep and I will do ANYTHING. Anything. I'm serious.
2:42 a.m. Silence. Yep, I'll call grandma. I promise. Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. You are a good God.
2:45 a.m. Hysteria. Full-blown.
2:47 a.m. Leaning over the crib. Her eyes are shut. What? Are you sleep crying? Are you OK? Are you having a bad dream? I am so confused.
2:47:30 a.m. Eyeballs pop open. Creepy. That scared me to death baby. Don't just pop awake like that on mommy, you look like an evil gremlin. Biggest smile I've seen all day. Anniston is not only awake, she is alert and happy. But I read the book little girl. I will not make eye contact with you or talk to you right now. You must learn that this is night time. I will obey the book. She coos. OK. It's night time unless you start cooing, the book must not have used a real baby that cooed, otherwise they would have written about the exceptions to the rules. If there is cooing, then we simply must talk! HI! I'm so glad you're awake! What were you dreaming about? How do you feel? Are you still the most perfect little thing in the whole world? Yes! That's right, you are.
2:55 a.m. The moment has passed. I might throw-up. I am so tired. Why don't you sleep through the night like I did when I was a baby? I am sure I slept through the night at eight weeks. Oh, i had such a perfect night of sleep planned out for me and the velvet sheets. But eat away little bird, you are hungry, eat away.
2:57 a.m. Will we go into world war three now? I mean, if Pakistan loses control of their government or military then we will have rogue nuclear weapons in the hands of the Taliban or jihadists or both, and let's be honest, ole Pakistan isn't having a lot of luck reining their terrorist friendly countrymen in. Then you have Jong-Il putting American journalists into labor camps and getting a little too friendly with his nuclear testing. Why go nuclear people? Why? Iran... do you really need something that can obliterate half of the middle east? And Lord only knows how Russia will play into this world struggle for power, they are on the prowl. Russia will reign again! But we are nuclear, aren't we? How can we ask people to adhere to policies that we do not follow ourselves? I need to buy gas mask's for my family and start a war closet stocked with food, flashlights, oxygen, and little Bibles. I don't know. Little Bibles just sound appropriate.
What time is it? Is she still breathing?
3:09 a.m. That's it? I have just run World War Three out in my mind and created a war survival strategy for my family. At this rate I can think all the way through the next five natural catastrophes and at least two more wars. My eyes feel like bricks. I feel sort of sick.
3:15 a.m. Head jerk. Crap, Jenny. You can't fall asleep while you're holding her. You could have dropped her. Though I guess that would have made the burp come out. What? You just justified dropping your baby? I need sleep. Baby, I need sleep.
3:30 a.m. Too tired to re-insert her paci and fix her swaddle. We go to sleep together on the couch. Her little breath brushes over my chest. Sometimes it gives me the chills. It might be one of the best feelings in the world. She's breathing. She's at peace. She is she. This tiny (9.4 pounds today!) little thing that we created. She loves me. Or at least needs me. I love her. Desperately.
6:00 a.m. Wide awake and ready to eat. We feed and then we play. I open the blinds and throw in the towel. The sun is out and Anniston wants to play. She is kicking and cooing and looking at everything. How can you turn that down. Another nights sleep slips through my fingers. Another memory etches its way into that place where only she can leave marks. Who needs sleep when you're making memories? I can sleep tomorrow.
Good morning Annie.