Zzzzzzz

A few words on sleep, which has quickly become a rare commodity for the adults (are we adults?  or just zombies who can't remember where they put their coffee cup or what happened to that part of our brains that is capable of putting together a full sentence without 'ummmm' inserted every three words or so?) in our household:

Anika is able to crash just about anytime, anywhere (when she is ready, of course), often in very uncomfortable-looking positions.  Her favorite place to sleep is slumped over on my chest (aka the face-plant position) or over Armando's knee, with her neck flopped over so it is practically parallel to her little shoulders.  She also does well in the Ergo, which would be my favorite baby gear product ever if it weren't for the fact that she wakes up the second I stop moving. Movement is really key here.  She was lovely on the way back from her doctor's appointment yesterday, save the wails that happened at each and every stoplight.  While waiting in line at the pharmacy the other day, I noticed that I was gently swaying from side to side.  This is from habit, as Anika wasn't even with me.  I must've looked ridiculous.

Of course, given our sleep deprived status, we're accustomed to looking ridiculous. The other day I fell asleep sitting up on the couch, with the wee one folded over in my lap.  I've seen Armando in the face-plant position on the couch on more than one occasion.  And I definitely fell asleep while on the phone with the insurance company this afternoon, despite the obnoxious hold music.  Is it just me, or have they lowered their standards even further?

But speaking of reminding, I have to remind myself that I survived the college years (and a significant portion of my working career as well) on the fumes of sleep, usually tinged with wine or martinis and occasionally had upon a library table or under my desk (as an aside, there is an entire underground movement of people in DC who admit to sleeping under their desks on a regular basis.  It's a necessity for many professionals around here).  The only obvious difference this time around is that I'm responsible for someone in addition to myself.  This fact scares the bejeezus out of me.

But Anika does a good job of keeping us in line.  She may not be able to talk, but she sure has a set of lungs on her.  And when she's not fussing - periods that babycenter.com has coined 'alert awakeness' - she has what my mom calls a precocious gaze that she casts upon this new world she inhabits.  It's like she's saying, hey there, I've got things more figured out than you think, and I want to know why you are still fumbling with me and scrambling to understand my needs at 3 a.m. when I'm clearly communicating in a logical and straightforward manner.

Whatcho lookin' at, Willis?

This couch pattern is lovely, really