I'm cracking up. It's just before 2 p.m. and Oliver has finally dropped off to sleep for his nap after loudly lamenting his little lungs out for the past hour and a half. Early this morning -- very early, like 4 a.m. -- he woke up and spent a couple of frustrating hours similarly howling. In fact, the family collective has not had a decent night's sleep since that first night of our long Thanksgiving weekend. We are at a complete loss to explain it. Is it a growth spurt? Does he have some new ailment? Is it pre-Christmas stress? Is this a bizarrely late form of Colick? Is it that he hates his new Hitler Youth haircut as much as we do? (His long, peroxide blonde bangs were getting a little out of hand, so we brought him in for a trim and the barber went a little haywire). WHAT IS THE PROBLEM? It's driving us all around the bend.
Regardless, Peggy is somehow able to tune it all out and sleep through it, but I can't. I just can't sit there while Oliver's screaming his head off, and ever since his crib-defying stunts of a couple of weeks ago, I'm afraid not to listen lest he take another head-bonking plunge. He's also such a damn light sleeper that when he does finally give up and fall asleep, I'm deathly afraid of blinking too loudly lest I rouse him from his shallow slumber and start the shrill torments all over again.
I've decided that all I want for Christmas -- apart from the piece of mind that only gainful employment can provide -- is some peace and freakin' quiet. I'm not holding my breath.
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