My husband and I have a term that we use to describe a certain state in which a person has had so much interaction with the baby that you begin to check out and/or get resentful. Baby-ed Out. You are in overload and the only remedy is to be away from your baby.
This weekend we were with our toddler and he was at full-strength. I am not complaining in any way that he was healthy. Make no mistake. But full-strength also means that he was moving and touching and picking things up and turning over glasses and knocking over the lamp and throwing things. He was in constant motion from the moment he woke up.
The good news is that for two nights in a row, he slept the entire night. I never thought we’d get to a point where we’d have two consecutive nights of sleep. Or mostly, I waffled between not believing that I was going to ever get sleep again, and the hope, the fable that I would have full nights again.
Yet again my husband and I are partaking in the magical thinking associated with this strange occurrence. Perhaps it was the pajamas, maybe his old pajamas were keeping him up at night. Maybe his diaper was itching him. It causes us to put him in the exact same pajamas night after night, trying to replicate our initial results. The truth is less superstitious. He’s just gotten older. He sleeps through the night sometimes.
He’s 23 months now. Old enough to have a regular bed, if we needed to make it happen. Thankfully, he’s not a climber (yet) we’re not making any plans.
I’m not planning on having another baby. I get a little sad as I’m selling my baby bjorn, or the swing with the little duckie on it. A little sad, but I am able to sell them all the same. My son will be an only child, because I am barely cut out for this. It’s become clear to me that my tolerance level for kids is pretty low. I’m ashamed to admit it, but there it is.