Dear Evan:
Some mornings it aches to leave you and your mommy.
You’re back to sleepless — or rather, sleep-interrupted — nights, thanks to a perfect storm of teething, a fever last weekend and the “fall back” time change. All three served to throw off your sleep schedule, so while you had been snoozing peacefully between 7:30 p.m. and 5 a.m., now you’re up throughout the night.
Your mommy is bearing the brunt of that, but it’s wearing on her. Neither of us likes the idea, but it’s time to let you cry it out a little more until you’re back on track.
Today, you were up early (or, for you, at the same time as usual), so after I showered and dressed for work, I picked you up and smooched your fat cheeks and let you stare in amazement at a tassle hanging down from our ceiling fan. You stroked it softly, not grabbing, but letting your fingers trail over it. I set you down on the bed for a moment, so you could practice standing.
You’re so proud, every time you lever yourself up on widely spaced feet. You look around, mouth open and grinning. We cheer and praise you and make noises of encouragement. I swear you’ll be walking soon, but your mommy says that’s a ways off, and she knows better.
This morning, she watched in sleepy amusement, and then whispered that I should take you to bed, see whether you (and she) could get a little more sleep.
I was skeptical, but I scooped you up again, my left arm under your bum and my right loosely on your chubby belly. You don’t even need me to hold you upright with that right hand, but I feel better doing when we walk in the dark.
Which we did, through the living room and kitchen and front hallway, then down that hall to your room. You goggled at everything, at the green lit numbers on the microwave and the blueish nightlights in the halls. You’ve seen them so many times before, but your brain is still mapping, still taking them into account and trying to decide what they mean.
You grumbled a bit at your bedroom — no question there for your brain; if we go in and I don’t turn on the light, you know the crib is your next stop. I was surprised, though, that you didn’t cry when I laid you down. You just rolled over, felt for the green-and-brown fabric bear your mommy calls “Woobie.” And then you were quiet.
I slipped out the door as noiselessly as possible. I hope you slept.
Love,
Daddy
