Return to Sleep Deprivation

The little angel is determined to keep me from recovering from bronchitis. Okay, she's not that vindictive, but it feels that way.  Last night, for instance, she wanted to party all night long. I have no idea why.  I don't know where she gets her energy - perhaps she has a secret Ecstasy stash of which I am not aware.   This was last night's screenplay:

8 p.m.  The baby is so tired she could die. Can't even finish more than half her bottle. Too tired. Pooped. Mama, put me to bed.

3 a.m.  Cry, cry. Someone come in and look at me. Remember how you rocked me when I was sick?  Do that again.  DO IT!

3:30 a.m.  No, the rubbing-the-back thing is NOT the same as rocking. ROCK ME!  Okay, at least look at how cute I am as I race back and forth in my crib and la la.

3:45 a.m. Hey, Dad, where are you going?  COME BACK!!!!

3:45 a.m. - 4:15 a.m.  SCREAM.....CRY CRY CRY CRY....cough cough cough....SCREAM....SCREAM SCREAM CRY SCREAM...cough cough...cough...choke...lalalalalalala....SCREAM...cough cough

4:15 a.m. - FINALLY!  Where have you been?  Didn't you hear me calling for you?  Now ROCK ME!  (At this point, the little angel has the aftershocks from crying - those little tear-filled hiccups that make me want to rip her from her bed and rock, rock, rock, but no...I will be strong.  I can feel Dr. Ferber smiling at me.  When she was sick, it was okay, but now she's not sick anymore...oh, be strong!)  I rub her back for three minutes and leave.

4:50 a.m.  SCREAM!!!  CRY, CRY....cough cough....SCREAM....sigh....silence.

5:30 a.m. Alarm goes off.  Oh, yeah, I wanted to exercise this morning after a week straight of lethargy.  I peer wearily at the clock, disbelieving it is really time to get up. Consider staying in bed.  Feel fat.  Get out of bed and head downstairs for Pilates.  The cat, who did a chorus with the little angel around 4:45 (she's nocturnal), looks at me like I am a big sucker.

7:15 a.m. Drag the little angel out of bed after she has slept through me flipping on the lights and picking her up.  She's tired?

8:15 a.m. Drop the little angel off at Oz.  She immediately puts her head down on the table and closes her eyes.  Lucky dog.

8:30 a.m. I'm driving to work.  Cough, cough, cough...sniff...cough, cough, SCREAM.