Home Alone

The Woman has left. You see, she got a job. Not that she really wants to be working so soon, but an opportunity arose that she couldn’t pass up. Teaching massage 3 nights a week but only 2 hours each night. And not that far from home, either. But now that leaves me home. At night. Alone. To take care of Kayleigh.

Of course, as with most timing in our lives, this job came just a tad prematurely. In another 3 months it would have been a complete nobrainer. As it stands, we… well, she… is in the middle of teaching our little girl about the wonders of sleeping for hours on end at nighttime. This is a wonder that we used to both enjoy and would like to get back to enjoying. Unfortunately, Kayleigh doesn’t completely understand this yet, thus my stress levels jump through the roof every time I hear her little grunts or sighs come over the monitor.

But that’s nighttime parenting. Living in fear that your baby will start fussing when you want them to sleep. Oh, and when they aren’t fussing? You poke and prod them until they do to make sure they’re alright. It’s brilliant! Much like the arguments I have with Kayleigh when she is over tired: “But honey, you’re sleepy. You need sleep. We want you to sleep. If you just go to sleep, everybody, including you, will be happy. Why won’t you just go to sleep?”

It’s like they say, there’s just no reasoning with kids. Especially when they lack any kind of verbal skills beyond the occasional “Enh!” Personally I think she really does understand these debates I have with her. Something in the way she smiles after we give up trying to get her to nap because she insists on crying the instant her head touches the mattress. That smile almost looks like a smirk, like she’s about to wink at me over The Woman’s shoulder to make sure I know that she fooled us again.

And so we come back to the idea of teaching her how to sleep. Training, really. Training? What is she, a dog? Well, we do clean up her poop, try to get her to walk on all fours, give her things to chew on, and watch her play with a squeaky toy… the line between baby and pet is beginning to blur. I’m starting to feel bad about all of those jokes I made about keeping her in the guinea pig cage.

Perhaps I’m pushing my luck just by clacking away on the keyboard, but she’s been sleeping in her crib for the past hour while I’ve been glued to bed waiting for the first signs of distress. That last sigh to come over the airwaves certainly sounded like her typically sleeping sigh. Maybe I can at least put my head back on the pillow… to sleep, perchance to dream?