(You knew I would resort to this title sooner or later, didn't you? I'd like to think of a better one, but I'm going to need more rest before I be even remotely clever.)
Westley has always been a good sleeper, relatively speaking. It's nothing I did, that I'm aware of. It seems like he just entered the world with a love of sleeping. We used to have to wake him up to feed him, which sucked. Hard. Taking your tiny, swaddled, sleeping newborn and unwrapping him and (gently) jiggling him until he woke up crying? Makes you feel like an amazing mother. A-MA-zing.
I was glad when he got the whole nursing-and-sleeping thing figured out, and he's pretty much stayed that way. He's had his moments, sure, when teething or separation anxiety were involved. But for the most part, Westley was the czar of catching Zs.
Notice I say "was"? Yeah, I should have known that elusive other shoe would drop down hard at some point, and it has. All thanks to something Westley calls "bleck."
On Wednesday night, Westley threw up for the first time. He had never been sick like that before, and it scared the bejeezus out of him. I held him on my lap, reminding myself that I was not allowed to freak out, that this was part of my job right now: to be thrown up on and be calm and reassuring. When he came up for air, he looked at me as though to say, "What's happening to me? You're the Mommy, make it stop!"
Ever since then, he's been gun-shy when it comes to bedtime, and talks about "bleck." No amount of my saying, "Yes, you threw up, but it won't happen tonight. You're all better now" makes a difference. The boy who used to be deeply asleep by 8 is now up--and miserable--at 8:30, 9, 9:30...and not catching up in the morning or during the day. He feels crappy, and he doesn't know why; I feel crappy, and I know why, but I'm dealing with an almost-two-year-old, and they're not known for understanding cause-and-effect relationships like, "If you don't sleep at night, you're not going to feel good during the day."
After a particularly awful night last night and an equally awful morning this morning, I needed some moral support. I called Rob at work and asked him if Westley and I could come have lunch with him. He said of course we could. My ulterior motive, of course, was to thoroughly wear Westley out (Daddy's office is an exciting place!) so that he'd take an epic nap this afternoon. Naturally, when I pulled into the Visitor parking spot and checked the rear-view...
Honk-shooooo...honk-shooooo...
Of course he was asleep. And somehow, he managed to stay asleep through my getting him out of the car, obtaining a Visitor Pass, waiting for Rob in the busy lobby, and walking up a flight of stairs and through a noisy cafeteria. I passed Westley off to Rob for a minute, fully expecting him to wake up. He didn't.
Westley slept through the first part of lunch. I don't remember the last time he slept so deeply in a public place, but he was probably less than six months old. I was amazed. When he woke up, he was happy to eat a little, run around, and generally be energetic and adorable until it was time for us to go. Based on his crankiness in the car, I was sure he'd take a good, solid nap.
Naturally, he's been crying and fussing in his crib on-and-off, clearly exhausted, for about an hour now. That other shoe has definitely dropped, and it's not fucking around.
