Somnolent

In my lunch box of lovely sounding words, the kind that you can sniff, roll around in your mouth, and pour smoothly into your very being, somnolent is among my favorite. It is such a lazy, dozy, round, liquid word.

I shouldn't write this post yet; it is tempting the fates. Today is Friday, April 25th. Last Friday was the last night that a 33" tall person walked into my room in the middle of the night. It's been over a week since either of us had to get up with him or listen to him cry himself back to sleep or put him back in bed after he fell out. The actual BED-TIME is still a little rocky, but the gate is effective. Duncan still gets out of bed and stands at the gate to express his disapproval; however, it's more of a political move at this point. It's not a "how can you do this to me you're so mean" cry; it's a "why can I not get my way" cry. It also seems to have a half life. We started with the hour of crying, which decreased to 30 minutes in the same day, which decreased to 15 the following day. One night it only took 5 minutes, but that was the night I was FOOL (very ugly word) enough to take this photograph, which brought Duncan back to the gate for ANOTHER 15 minutes. Fool.

I am tempting the fates because we're at Nana and Poppy's house. We're trying Duncan's travel tent for the first time. He has played in it, but we haven't tried sleeping in it for about a year. He is actually asleep in it at this moment; we'll see if he stays there. We're also sleeping in the same room with him, which we have not attempted for a while. I'm crossing my fingers.

I am genuinely hoping that my next post will be about something other than sleep because, frankly, I grow weary of myself. We may have successfully survived our latest month of sleep perdition (I'm not sure if I can publish the h e double hockey sticks word). Night night, sleep tight. Don't let the love bugs bite. Sweet dreams!

Restless

It was a restless night in our house. Duncan fell out of bed once, and after he was tucked back in, he proceeded to spend the better part of the night whining/moaning/crying/talking. I got up at least 3 times to check up on him, and he was fast asleep each time. Once his feet were threaded through the bars, up against the wall. Once his face was smashed into the side rail, like a prisoner. Sometime toward morning he got up and wandered into our bedroom before Jamie ushered him right back to his. Sometimes, I feel like he'll never sleep straight through the night again like he used to. We still have some good nights; Saturday night he didn't make a peep between 7:30 p.m. and 6:30 a.m. I guess the sleep deprived nights are more memorable. It's ironic as I watch Marcie and Roger going through their own sleeping issues with Ben and keep saying "It gets better." I guess better is relative. When you're child had been sleeping like a champ and then stops, it's hard to remember that it's still better than nightly feedings every two or three hours. Wish us luck tonight.