My 2-month old is totally screwing with me.
Hubby and I have a plan to move the Monkey from his bouncer into his crib. We were to start the process last night at bedtime, since the Monkey has been doing such a great job of going and staying asleep, but I forgot to put the Monkey in his crib after nursing him. My fault totally – I was on auto-pilot and just buckled him into his bouncer without thinking. When I came out of the nursery, Hubby asked how he was doing in the crib – shit. No problem, I said, he never – and I mean NEVER – goes down for good the first time we put him to bed.
Until last night. The Monkey slept for 8 hours after we put him down at 7:30. Sounds wonderful, but I stayed up later than normal waiting for him to wake up, and then had to get up at 3:30 am to feed him. Thank goodness today was Sunday and Hubby took his morning feeding so I could sleep in some. My next attempt was the Monkey’s morning nap, a short but very dependable nap at 9 am. After three failed attempts to put him down in his crib, however, the Monkey totally lost his cool and was ready to eat again. Strike two.
With no morning nap, I knew it would be more difficult to get our fussy, overtired little Monkey to bed in his boring crib. So I decided to put the safari-themed bumper back in his crib to help him self-soothe (the ability to entertain himself is evidently the same skill he uses to put himself to sleep). After nursing him, I put my still-wide-awake Monkey in his swing so that I could tie the bumper into place. The Monkey absolutely HATES his swing, so much so that I have no idea why the hell we still have it in his nursery. So I was sure I’d have to listen to him fuss while I worked. Instead, he started babbling to himself and, by the time I finished with the bumper, he was sound asleep.
What the fuck.
Again, I know I shouldn’t be whining about this. I should shut the hell up and be thankful that the Monkey is sleeping so well, wherever he chooses to sleep. In fact, he’s putting himself to sleep. At two months old. That’s golden.
I’m a planner, though, and we have a plan. I like being in control. After all, I’m a fucking scientist. I like setting up well-controlled experiments. I like experimental results that have explanations. When I repeatedly get effed-up results on a project, I ditch it. I need publications. And grants. And I have no patience for screwy science that stands in my way.
But the Monkey breaks all the rules. He mocks our attempts to control him, and we
shouldn’t can’t won’t ditch him. Instead, we try to play by his rules, which are constantly evolving. It’s become painfully obvious who runs this household – and it’s not the adults.