Readers, I sit before you with a black cat on my lap, calmly typing away on my laptop, while inside our bedroom a baby sleeps.
We may have cracked the code. Of course I know writing about it in this way guarantees it will be thrown back in our faces, but for tonight, or at least for now, I am a happy man.
We bought Stella yet another swaddler, and that made all the difference.
It's all too coincidental. Stella outgrew her last swaddler right after her first round of shots. We bought her a new one, and it was and is too big. She wriggles out of it like a damned Houdini, no matter how we try to bind her. She cries, as a result, ALL THE TIME.
I can rock her, I can sing to her, I can talk to her in a low voice, none of it matters. She wriggles free, one arm held high like Queen Elizabeth, the other bound, loosely to her side, in a sort of oddly Roman fashion. Repeat ad nauseum.
Today, though, we changed the game on her ass.
Randi bought yet another swaddler, this one for $30. Yes, folks, we have now spent over $75 on swaddlers, but this one might be our last one. It wraps the baby so snuggly, over and over, that she can't escape. It's the perfect baby straight jacket.
So entombed she wriggles less in her sleep, so she sleeps more deeply. When she does cry and wake herself up I was able to rock her back to sleep in just a matter of minutes as compared with hours. It is what it should be, she is happier, her eyes droopier, and this poor, exhausted child might finally get some sleep. I just realized with that last sentence I could also be describing Randi, too. God willing, she too will finally get some rest. I don't even think when they tried to smoke out Manuel Noriega he went this long without rest.
I keep my fingers crossed, but tonight I sit in stately BBD Manor a happy man. May it last at least another three-to-five hours.