May 18, 2010
I think I’m done having babies. At least that’s what I keep telling my lady parts.
I’m all, “Listen here ovaries, fallopian tubes, and you too uterus! No more babies, ya hear?”
Don’t you wish it was that easy? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about your sheets smelling like a condom or those beastly birth control mood swings.
You know what I’m talking about ladies, those crazy fits of rage where you flip over the table, stand on the rubble, and then do a lewd hand gesture to your neighbor out the window as he walks his dog. And then seconds later you let out a meek, “sorry”, and nonchalantly shrug your shoulders to your husband, as if to say, What? Now who’s gonna clean this mess and apologize to Mr Sheldon?
Yeah, I’m not so down with that.
Back to me being done having babies.
Hudson is such a precious little nugget, that I’m cherishing every part of his baby-ness, because I know it’s the last time.
He’s been sleeping beside me in a co-sleeper since he was born.
You know, those crib thingies that attach to your bed? So you can caress their soft head while they sleep, OR jostle them rigidly while you’re half awake to make sure they’re still breathing?
Ya, those things.
This is what they look like:
I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. This is what they look like if you’re incredibly hip, and modern, and you live in Tokyo, or some awesome Scandinavian town. Mine just looks like this:
About two months ago (when he was 3 months old), I did his night time routine and laid him down in his co-sleeper, and he usually rolls over and goes right to sleep as if to say, okay mama see ya on the flip side. Which really means, see ya in 6.5 hours where I’ll desperately cry out for some leche, then fall asleep half way through the feeding and leave your left boob all lopsided. SUCKA!
But this night was different. He cried.
And after trying many things, I stuck him in his crib. In his room. Really, really far down the hall. Which is at least 20 steps away.
He fell right asleep.
But when it was time for me to go to bed, I grabbed him out of his crib and stuck him back into his co-sleeper, next to me. Who’s the sucka now, huh Hudson?
All was fine for a few weeks, then he cried out again. And again. So finally I acquiesced, and let him sleep in his crib all night.
What kind of baby tells you he’s ready to sleep in his own room?
A crazy baby named Hudson, that’s who.
That night was fun. I paced the halls, stared at his video monitor, and contemplated laying with him in his crib.
It’s been a few weeks, and he’s doing swell in his own room. But his co-sleeper is still attached to my bed.
It’s empty, waiting for him to come back.
But he’s not going to.
It’s kinda sad, really.
But it’s not totally empty. It’s become my new night stand. Because the co-sleeper blocks my actual night stand. So I have my chapstick in there, my mouthguard, my bottle of water, my monitor. I think I might even stick one of Berlyn’s dolls in there to make me feel less weird about this whole thing.
Because putting a fake baby in the co-sleeper would make the whole thing less weird.