The first week of full time work away from the babies have so far been pleasantly uneventful. Except for one thing. They are no longer sleeping through the night. *sigh*
Their nap times are going rather smoothly, eating is on track, they have each other, and their Nana and Grandpa, so life on that end is fine. I guess.
But the past two nights all our advances of the babies sleeping through the night went out the goshdang window. Last night, Ryan woke at 3:28am crying his little tushy off. He arched his back into a serious yoga pose and would not accept any form of comfort but the boob. I nursed him and hesitatingly wondered if I should nurse Logan while I was up. Hmmmm…. the monumental choices one has to make at quarter to four in the morning. I decided not to, in case Logan ends up sleeping contentedly until 6am, as has been the case, and slug back to bed, curling up to the electric heater hubby next to me, defrosting my freezing feet between his.
Big mistake! Before I can even fall asleep, flitting between REM stages, I hear Logan crying for his turn. I look at the time.It’s 4:32am. *groan* But instead of resenting the call from the warmth of my bed and snoozing, I turned that frown-upside-down and I think these are precious times that I can spend with the boys and cuddle my little Logie-bear and stroke his soft skin.
Over the course of the week, I’ve come to realise that when you leave the house for work for 8 hours a day how very much you appreciate your time with the babies when you have it. I get home from work, and the look on their face when they see me transitions from confusion to recognition to happiness, and if I don’t do the Superman undress quickly enough, to downright displeasure from having to wait for the milk bar to open.
But oh my golly, thank goodness it’s Friday!