Sleepless in the City

After reading a fellow mommy's blog, I realize what a slacker I have become when it comes to posting.  I remember fondly those days of one child and blogging, and I laugh at my past self for complaining relentlessly about not having time to do things on the Internet. Ha. Hahaha.

Now I have two little boys and it has not only become difficult to find a moment of time to myself, it has become downright impossible.  Without my fabulous husband, I fear I would never NOT have a child either clinging to my skirt or to my boob.  

At three and a half months, my newborn is no longer a newborn.  That reddish hue on his unsettled skin has become predictably soft and impossibly pink.  His sleeping patterns have become more consistent at three to five hour stretches a night...more than we could have possibly asked for at this point in his life.  Why are we so thankful for what seems like a pittance of sleep?  We remember our first born, that's why.  The wailing went on for hours...oh the wailing and screaming.  And it always happened around the same time every night, right before we tried to put him down for the night.  It was as if he thought he was never going to wake again.  Ugh, it was straight up awful for about four months solid.  We thought we might die from exhaustion.

However, our not-so-newborn took to sleep like a champ from the get go.  He slept three hours at a time, all through the day and night until he hit his stride at ten weeks or so when he began stretching his night time sleep to five hours.  Bliss, I tell you.  

The only problem with having a baby that sleeps is that I am tempted to stay up until midnight and watch what my Tivo has saved for me.  The urge to reconnect with the outside world is powerful and I never resist it for too long.  Sure, it feels great to go to sleep at eight or nine, but what fun would that be?  I'm missing good trash television and I need to be informed of the ins and outs of Brangelina.  This is important stuff, people.

Of course at 5:30 a.m. when both boys seems to wake within twenty minutes of one another I am rueing the moment I decided that Law and Order reruns were far more important than getting to bed.  It's torturous to pull my body into clothes and brush my hair...which is why my hair often looks like I have been hit repeatedly by a car.  I smell bad, too.  Shower?  What's that?  OH, THAT.  No, that doesn't happen every day, either.