Last night was not pretty. Usually I fall asleep the second before my head hits the pillow, but yesterday I was tossing and turning until about midnight, when I finally fell into a really vivid dream involving co-workers, Josh's old bandmates and an elaborate office dining hall where all the food on the menu was free.
Then, at 1am, all hell broke loose. Z awakened with a scream and the next two hours brought back memories of newbornhood. You know, the wee hours when the moment after the crying ceases you find yourself holding your breath, unable to relax because your worried it will just start up again. Josh and I took turns going to her and settling her down, only to have the wailing resume within 10 minutes. On my visits, she was weirdly talkative, speaking clearly but not making a lot of sense. ("My cheeks! Oh, now they're better. My feet are better too. Mommy read a story in the crib. My new diaper is fresh and clean. Daddy's having lunch downstairs. Mommy's hair.")
I don't know if it was night terrors or the same restlessness that was afflicting me, but she eventually whimpered herself to sleep. She caught up on missed sleep by waking up late (and much happier) this morning.
Oh, Josh called me on the train this morning to report the following conversation between Z and himself:
"What are you thinking about, Daddy?"
"I'm thinking about driving. Are you thinking, Z?"
"Yes."
"What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about Mommy!"
