b Papa Dog's Blog: Little Sleep, Lazy Sunday

Papa Dog's Blog

A Thing Wherein I Infrequently Write Some Stuff

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Little Sleep, Lazy Sunday

The sleep schedule was more than somewhat screwy last night, probably as a result of an impulsive postprandial trip to Fenton’s. Mama Dog and I enjoyed our sundaes and Baby Dog enjoyed playing with a spoon and flirting with porcine dessertoholics, but the end result was that her bed time didn’t happen until after nine, a good hour later than the norm. We spoke hopefully of the idea that maybe later to bed would mean later to rise, but it only amounted to whistling past the graveyard. We had heard from more than one source that a baby who goes to bed late will probably just wake up at the usual time and be cranky as hell for going on short sleep.

The answer turned out to be none of the above. Instead, she woke up at one a.m. and wouldn’t go back to sleep after changing and feeding. She’d settle down, we’d think all was well, and then a minute later she’d start screaming again. In the end I dragged myself out of bed and pulled my shushing techniques out of mothballs. I doubt it was that effective as a soporific, but it calmed her down probably just on the basis of sheer familiarity. Once she stopped screaming, she was able to relax, and then sleep was not far behind. She cranked once or twice after I went back to bed, but not for a prolonged time, and then she mercifully slept until 7:30. Mama Dog was still ruint for lack of sleep, so I got up, let the dog out, changed baby, and set her up for breakfast. I bought Mama Dog a few more minutes that way, anyway.

We couldn’t snooze forever anyway. We were due at the Pirates’ house at nine for brunch…though at nine a.m. on Sunday, I’d more likely call that breakfast. I was taken immediately by the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. Mama Pirate is a vegetarian except that she eats chicken. And bacon. Okay, I know what you’re thinking, a vegetarian who eats chicken and bacon is actually what you’d call a carnivore who likes a side salad, but this is the East Bay. We get to choose our own labels here. If she wants to call herself a vegetarian who eats chicken and bacon, that’s her business, as long as I get some of the bacon.

A couple of the complicated array of Pirate grandparents were in town, and there was baby love in progress. Babies Dog and Pirate played together in the living room, actually sharing a toy without grabbing at one point. Baby Pirate continues to astound by providing a preview of the months to come. Not only is she practically walking, but when quizzed on the whereabouts of her nose, she pointed at the correct location. That may not astound the jaded or the childless, but to us it’s like David Copperfield* making South America vanish.

It was a languid and not particularly eventful day other than that. I did some laundry. We continued to not get the babyproofing done. Baby Dog played in the living room. I took her out in the afternoon so that Mama Dog could get a few more much-needed zeds. Mama Dog took Doggy Dog for a long stroll, but not as long as the one she’d intended. I finally gave up on ever finishing my backlog of newspapers and threw the lot into the recycle. I start fresh now. And in the cranky interval between the end of suppertime and the start of bedtime, Baby Dog said for the first time in clear if lachrymose tones, “Daddy.”
*The fromage-ulent magician, not the Dickens character – but you probably worked that out yourself.


Anonymous Mama Dog Duvalier said...

Thank you for let me sleep extra 30 minute, Papa Dog! You the dog's ear! xoxo

8:57 PM  
Blogger Judy said...

Awwww...nothing is as sweet as the first time they say your name!

8:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm not a vegetarian! I just rarely eat meat because Daddy Pirate doesn't. (That's why I enjoy bacon-eating guests; you're my excuse.) I didn't eat meat for about 12 years (age 8-20) but I would eat a nice tiny piece of steak right now if someone sold sirloin by the ounce.
Anne Bonny
Mama Pirate

10:14 PM  

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