Gavin just does not want to take naps. Apparently screaming for an hour is much preferred. Babies: you can't reason with them. You also can't force them to go to sleep. All you can do is set the conditions for sleeping to happen. That's what the books say. And the books also say that night time sleeping is easier than naps. Naps are harder. Gavin is living proof of this. Nighttime has been a breeze in comparison. Maybe all that sleep training hell was worth it. For the past three nights or so he has gone to sleep without crying and only woken up a single freaking time between 3 and 4 a.m. to nurse. After boobies it's back to sleep until 6 or, in the case of this morning, after 7:00. Of course, Stacy is the one who puts him to bed at night, so I could just jump to the conclusion that I am cursed, but I take solace in the fact that she has just as much trouble putting him down for naps during the weekend as I do during the week.
Side note: I'm always disturbed by the phrase "putting him down" for a nap, because I can't help but associate that with dogs and, well, when you put a dog down you kill it. This is, of course, the complete opposite goal of putting a baby down.
But aside from the naps, or lackthereof, not a bad day. We didn't go anywhere, though Laura and Jamie came over around 1. When they arrived Gavin was crying in his crib and it was time to get him up from his not-nap. "Want to see the most pathetic thing ever?" I asked them. "Wait here." I fetched Gavin from his crib and brought his reddened tearstreamed snotty nosed mug out to greet them. He was still reeling from the crying. He had "cry hiccups," as Jamie called them. He seemed a little confused about their presence as if he were thinking, "This isn't how things go. Usually Mama D gets me up and it's just me, her, the cat, the dog, and what we both wore to bed." Speaking of which, I did brush my hair and change my shirt before Laura and Jamie got there. I told them as much but I think they thought I was kidding.
Gavin was much better after he had a bottle - which was slow going since he was distracted by Laura and Jamie. Mostly Laura since she was walking around the room talking. It's hard to track someone when you have a nipple in your mouth. He's quite the charmer when he has a full belly. Though he also had terrible gas. This isn't unusual for him, but it was particularly rank today. Maybe it's the oatmeal he's eating. As my dad put it, "He farts like a drunk trucker." This is a very accurate description. It doesn't bother me, though. Granted I don't love it when he gasses up the room (though "gas is better on the outside" is what we say to him, a term we stole from a friend who says the same thing to her two kids). But he's just so innocent about it. He can fill his pants and smile at you like you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen all in the same moment. He has no sense of shame or worry. It's what I love about dogs, too. Dogs and babies have a lot in common.
Hmmm. According to Facebook Howard Zinn died. And I missed the State of the Union address. Son of a bitch.
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