nuits blanches
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Now there are some sentimentalists that will tell you that the first transcendent moment, the one when suddenly all the weeks of sleep deprivation and relentless feed-me-change-me-burp-me-feed-me-oops-i-just-sicked-up-all-over-the-duvet-change-me-again-please drudgery melt away in a single instant is when your new baby looks up at you, all wobbly-headed and google-eyed, and essays a first tentative, wide-mouthed smile.
Yeah. Call me a cynical old battle-axe but for me the moment of transcendence occurs the first time you wake up in the morning and realise that they've slept through the night. Which she did last night, for about 12 hours. I woke at 6 am, heard sleepy snuffles from the bassinet and clambered over Jack to see the alarm clock. 6 a.m. 6 A.M.! As Becca was spending the night at her nana's we weren't expecting the usual 6 o'clock invasion, so, pausing only to offer up a silent, grateful prayer, I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then Maggie woke up at 7.30 and guzzled down 12 hours'-worth of engorged boobie at such speed that she promptly puked mightily, soaking the futon and practically washing her mother away in the process. But I don't care because she slept through the night and there is light and hope in the world and looky here, suddenly I can form complete sentences even if they are run-on ones.
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