In the ever growing struggle for title of “She Who is Running Things”, it is not Morgan who has dealt me my last blow, it is in fact sweet, little Coever. If this heifer doesn’t start sleeping through the night, we’re about to rumble like the Sharks and the Jets up in this piece.
Morgan was 8 months before she went from 7 to 7 and what a long 8 months it was. She practically guaranteed that she was going to be an only child. Still, she found her groove and we’ve been good ever since. Coever, so I’ve been told, is her mother’s child — a social butterfly in the wee hours. According to urban legend, I would insist (at 10 months, I’m not sure how), that my own mother stay in my room while I fell asleep. If I saw her nodding off, I would grab hold of the slats in the crib, shake them like they owed me money, while grunting at higher and higher pitches until she woke up. Then, I’d smile at her. Ain’t I sweet?
Coever girl gives me that same gummy smile at 2:30am, 3:45am, and 4:41am until she slips off to sleep on my chest. Maybe I am perpetuating a cycle by picking her up and bringing her into the bed with me after the fourth or fifth middle of the night interruption, but hey, I’ve got to get some zzzz’s, too. Chasing Morgan around all day requires energy stores that I just can’t tap into if I don’t get some uninterupted REM sleep. And just like her sister, Coever is steadily making sure she is and will remain the baby of the family.
Of course, if that’s the case, maybe I should savor this time, tuck her in a little closer to my chest and fall asleep with her sweet baby smell in my nose.