For the last couple of weeks, Hazel's bedtime routine begins around 8:45, with a bath and then I nurse her down to sleep. I've been thinking lately, though, that her needing to nurse to fall asleep might not be the greatest thing since sliced bread... because that means that I HAVE to be there to put her down or she'll cry in her crib and both Benny and I can't help but think that means WE ARE THE WORST PARENTS IN THE WORLD. Also, last night I started in a volleyball league and every Wednesday night for the next few weeks, I probably won't be there to put her to bed... (side note: GASP!!!!)
Anyway, with these thoughts in mind, Benny and I decided to see if he could get her to sleep without my help. Or rather, help from "The Twins". So, Tuesday night after bath time, I gave Hazey a kiss goodnight, and Benny pulled out Goodnight, Moon to read to her... along with an emergency bottle in case the book didn't work.
And no... the book didn't work. But two ounces of formula did. Well, two ounces of formula and two attempts at the "Daddy Special" worked. And 8 hours later... Hazel finally woke up!!! I mean... 8 hours? I'm used to putting her to sleep at 9:15ish, and getting up at 4ish for another quick nip (no pun intended)(well, maybe a little pun intended), and then waking back up at 7:30ish for the day. What I'm NOT used to is having Benny put her down and then having her sleep all. night. long.
Seriously... our baby girl is a ROCK. STAR. And that's not even the most amazing thing about the new routine. Last night when I got home from my volleyball game at 8 p.m., Hazey was already enjoying a luxurious bath. And after the bath and an ounce of formula... our little girl fell asleep at 8:35... and didn't wake up until 6:45. That's right ladies and gentlemen: 10 hours and 10 minutes.
Of course, yours truly didn't get the same quality hours. Partly because 8:35 snuck up on both Benny and I so quickly we didn't know what to do with ourselves so we just stared at each other and picked our noses for a good hour. And partly because my breasts weren't ready for Hazey to throw down a 10 hour stint and I woke up at 5 a.m.... HUGE. Painfully huge. Painfully huge to the point that the only semi-comfortable position I could find was laying flat on my back and trying not to breathe to hard, lest the air exhaled would hit them like a cool breeze over the Andes mountains. And since they actually were the Andes Mountains by that time... well, it just wasn't working.
The situation didn't improve when the phone rang at 6:30 and I had to "roll" over to Benny's side of the bed to answer it. (Roll? Please. More like flopped, screamed in pain because the boobs could not support my full weight.) It was his boss wondering where he was. Where he was was in the kitchen having breakfast... apparently, there was a communications breakdown as to what time they were starting work today. Benny thought they were starting at 8:30 a.m.... when really they were starting at God-Forsaken:30.
But, I digress. Let's continue to talk about my huge boobs. When I got up out of bed to hand the phone to Benny, I ran into the door with my left porn star. Have any of you ever run into a door while completely engorged at God-Forsaken:30? OMG. I'm not a dude. But I would have to imagine that the pain that comes along with making THAT mistake has to be comparable to getting kicked in the family jewels. And then having them set on fire.
I was doubled over in pain, stumbling to the kitchen, holding the phone in one hand, my boob in the other and trying not to cry too loudly lest I wake the child. And/or have Benny's boss hear me sobbing in boob pain.
Benny was all: "What's wrong with you?"
And I was all: "Oh... I dunno. You are late for work thus causing me THE MOST INCREDIBLE PAIN IN THE WORLD. And me... with no epidural. YOU ARE TO BLAME!"
Well, to be fair... he and HIS BOSS are to blame. Blame must be assessed somewhere. We can't blame the child.
Cuz she just pulled a 10-hour stint, beyotches!! She's freakin' golden!