Monday, September 22, 2014

He's Baaack. The Braying Boy.

Sometime back in August I wrote a series of posts about the trials and tribulations Mrs. Blackwell and I were having when the boy's sleeping routine was inexplicably interrupted. 

He'd woken up in the middle of the night and, in defiance of every single parenting law known to man, Mrs. Blackwell brought the boy into our bedroom. (To be fair I didn't exactly rush to alleviate the situation, nor did I offer a viable alternative.)


Wake up time. 
Since the good folks at my office don't adjust business hours based on fluctuations in my son's sleep schedule, it made for a few long nights and all-too early mornings. 

But no big deal. It didn't last forever and soon we were back to normal with the boy sleeping 10-11 hours straight through the night. 

That was until a couple weeks ago when normal changed, again, and the boy was back to waking up in the middle of the night. 

These middle-of-the-night wake ups are frequent enough now that I can stop calling them the exception — but I can call them lots of other things. 

So, the new normal is Mrs. Blackwell and I being awakened within an hour either direction of 1 a.m. by the boy — angrier than hell about who knows what. 

You get a feel for your kid's cries and his midnight fits are defined by frustration and perhaps a little bit of fear. Naturally our response remains to do what textbooks, pediatricians and practitioners of common sense have been saying "Don't do!" for generations. 

So the boy saddles up in our bed. Shortly after arriving he stops crying and, just as he's done since we started this exercise, he decides it's time to start chatting. 

Often he'll just repeat one word like, "Get!!" for instance. He'll repeat it over, and over, and over, and over. And, each time he says the word he slams his leg down or extends it out. 

Then there are instances when he halts the leg movements and finds other parts of his anatomy to exercise or check up on. Arms are waved, elbows bent, feet shuffled. There's much rolling, twisting, squirming and burrowing.

When he's not doing this, he'll sing songs. Mostly stuff by the Beatles so, the music isn't bad — unlike those times he gets his hands on the iPhone and plays the first 26 seconds of R. Kelly's "Ignition" on a non-stop loop. 
Remember this song? Better yet, do you remember every
nanosecond of the first half minute? No worries, I can
fill you in. 

Yes, it's the middle of the night and he's ready to hang out. Last night I had to get out of bed for a moment and, no sooner was I gone then the boy started asking me to return. "Daddy. Wheeuh aawww yooo?"

It's kind of him to not want me to miss out on these impromptu celebrations he's so fond of. I appreciate being included, but I'm also a tired, old man and the next time someone refers to me as a "morning person" will be the first since the 80's. 

Even if I could escape his volume, there is no escaping his body. The kid is a long little bugger and he uses every inch of his frame to ensure that mommy and daddy both know he's with them. 

Ultimately, if I have to digress and evaluate the boy strictly by his ability to share space (never mind the insanity that we're sharing space to begin with) I'd give him a solid 2 out of 10. He only gets those two points because he stays in a good mood. 

The one saving grace in the renewal of this exercise is that it does end and the boy does fall asleep, followed shortly thereafter by Mrs. Blackwell and myself. 

Regular readers will remember that the previous entry dealing with the boy's sleep misadventures was four parts total. Here's hoping our new reality is fleeting and doesn't justify such a thorough treatment.

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