The Unbearable Lightness of the *$&%* Sun

At 2:30 a.m. or thereabouts, the baby woke up. This is not uncommon, nor is it particularly unexpected -- he is, after all 6 weeks old. We have been through this before, of course, and so we have a sort of system established. This is how the system is supposed to work:

Baby cries. I wake up and nurse him. This is done without leaving my bed, because the baby is right there, next to me. Don't start with me on co-sleeping; I'm not interested. I'm tired. OK, so I nurse. I burp baby. If baby is still awake, at this point, I hand him to Mr. WG for him to change while I go to the bathroom. I return, nurse baby some more. Then I hand a somewhat sleeping baby to Mr. WG, who is supposed to let the baby sleep on his (Mr. WG's) chest until the baby is deeply asleep, at which point Mr. WG is supposed to gently lay baby back down on his back in bed.

Can you guess where I'm going with this yet? Last night, I repeatedly jabbed Mr. WG, but he refused to awaken enough to hold the baby. So guess who got to sit up holding the baby from 2 to 5 a.m.? No, really, guess.

At one point, I started ranting out loud, only to be ignored by Mr. WG. And then, when his CrackBerry buzzed to announce an all-important middle of the night email, I threatened to remove its battery and flush it. For that, he woke up long enough to clutch the phone protectively.

This morning, he tried to tell me that the baby was only awake from 3 a.m. to 4 a.m. "Um, no," I said. Not gently. "Ya-huh," he replied. "No," I said, with less love and more malice. "Ya-huh," he repeated unoriginally. "What time did your BlackBerry buzz?" Aha! He checked, and then was forced to admit that it had buzzed AFTER 4. WELL after 4.

Somehow, this does not make me any less tired.