Co-sleeping. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a parent, it’s that the term “co-sleeping” is a bit of a misnomer, as there is seldom any sleeping involved with co-sleeping. Perhaps this is our fault, as we have never sat Baby 1.0 down and really explained what co-sleeping means to her. In Baby 1.0’s mind, it is clear co-sleeping is viewed as a WWE Smackdown-esque competition where Baby 1.0 is perpetually defending the highly coveted Paperweight belt. But last night, after receiving 22 tiny blows to the face at 2am, it hit me (literally): I need to bring this to the people, because you know what they say about misery loving company. Now the problem I encountered immediately was if I were to “live-blog” it, as I did with the previous 7 Minutes in Heaven post, then I couldn’t continue to pretend I was sleeping, and I would lose all hope of Baby 1.0 rolling over and attacking my husband instead. So forgive me, as this is from memory, and as I previously stated, I was actually punchslapped 22 times in the head last night. Also, it should be mentioned we were staying in a hotel, which is why we had to attempt to co-sleep at all.
10-1:00- Sleep soundly, like a little baby lamb in a warm bed of hay, until Baby 1.0 wakes for her usual early morning feeding. Nurse her back down, and successfully transfer her back into her Pack and Play. Do small victory dance before crawling back into bed.
1:45- Start to drift off to sleep. Heart stops cold when two syllables are whispered from behind the barricade of chairs we have set up to block Baby 1.0’s view of our bed… “Mama?” Starts off soft, but quickly turns into full on whaling cries. Jump out of bed to retrieve screaming child before she wakes up every guest in the hotel.
1:46- Rock screaming child, and panic because rocking, shooshing, swaying and snuggling aren’t helping. Make (bad) judgment call, and slide into bed with screaming child.
1:47- Screaming stops. Use this opportunity to lay down and close my eyes in an attempt to convince her I have fallen asleep, and she should do the same. “Mamamamamamamamama. Mama. Maaaaaamamama.” Fingers in my ears. Fingers in my eyes. Fingers in my nose. Fingers trying to go from deep in my nose to my mouth forcing me to move slightly, therefore reinforcing to Baby 1.0 if she pushes far enough, I will react. Reality sets in I am done for, and also if I ever have to play dead for a Grizzly, I am screwed.
1:48- Baby 1.0 lays down next to me. For 2.2 microseconds I think “Great Scott! I think I’ve done it!” Baby 1.0 then aggressively adjusts so she is now in standard “H” formation, with her head pressed into my rib cage, and her feet delivering heel kicks to her Dad’s sternum. She lays here for approximately 35 seconds, kicking away, then quickly switches back to the correct head to toe position between us. Nervously, I begin to hum Twinkle Twinkle, her go-to bedtime jam.
1:49- After quietly humming 6 verses of Twinkle Twinkle, I stop. “Mooah! Mooah!” Baby 1.0 yells while slamming her tiny fist into my stomach. Humming resumes. Humming is interrupted by Baby 1.0’s sudden desire to make train noises. “Choo chooooo!” she yells with high-pitched delight. She sits up on her knees and begins bouncing on the bed. “Choo choo! Choo chooooo!”
1:50- Baby 1.0 suddenly topples forward and lays down between us again. Curling into my body, she begins to sing. “Shake off, shake off,” she coos, over and over. Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” song is now firmly embedded in my head, and continues to play on repeat even to this moment, a full 12 hours later.
1:51- Apparently tiring of my boring early-morning mood, she turns her attention to her daddy and begins to name features on his face. “Eye. Eye. No. Mow. Eye.” This last eye gets him in trouble because he corrects her and says “ear” which was exactly the gateway Baby 1.0 was looking for. BINGO! Dad’s awake. She dives onto his chest and smothers him with whatever was wet on her face.
1:52- Baby 1.0 yawns. She circles and lays down, flips, flops, circles. Kicks. Pulls at covers. Pushes at covers. Lifts covers with legs approximately 18 times. Yawns. Flips. Head butts. Nuzzles. Wiggles her fingers into my shirt sleeve and scratches at my skin. Puts hand to my mouth and requests kitty cat kisses. Punchslaps me 22 times in the head, with some sort of wiggly, wobbly backhand move.
After over an hour of nonsense, my husband, who is apparently a magician who seldom uses his powers for reasons that remain unclear, managed to get her back down and sleeping in her Pack and Play, where she remained for the rest of the night. It was a co-sleeping nightmare that ended in a world class magic trick. It was…7 minutes in Heaven.