O ye powerful gods of Newborn Sleep, why have though forsaken me?
On the first night, I did not sleep, but I believed that was because I was full of adrenalin.
On the second night, I slept for 6.5 hours, from midnight to 6:30am,
with only a small break in the middle when Sarah had to turn over for
nursing from the other side.
Perhaps last night you cursed me with sleep of no more than 60-90
minutes at a time because I crowed about my second sleep in a boastful
or inappropriate manner to my friends?
Perhaps it was because I claimed it was our clever parenting and
nursing techniques, instead of simply admitting it was the benevolence
of the mercy of the Gods of Newborn Sleep?
Perhaps you didn’t like the fact that I intended to watch the Lemony Snicket movie, and felt someone should pay for Jim Carrey’s lackluster performance?
I now lay in bed, haggard and droop-eyed, because my sleep cycle
resembles a suspected terrorist at Guantanamo camp in Cuba. Slight bits of sleep followed by crying and waking up and mysterious unsolvable bouts of baby unhappiness. I don’t even remember the last time I dreamed. All I’m
missing is the burlap hood and the Christina Aguilera.
Today I shall make a special chocolate offering, which I will prepare lovingly and set out so the pleasant odor may reach you on Mount Olympus.
Please have mercy upon my soul.