Armed and dangerous
Though he still sleeps more hours a day than any parent has a right to hope for, our baby Noah is entering the stage where he wants to practice his new tricks day and night.
One recent middle of the night (no, I don't know for sure when it was; all I know is that it was dark and I had been all snuggled into my bed, actually getting some REM sleep), the little chunk started fussing and couldn't seem to get himself calmed down.
So I got up, stumbled down the stairs and expertly made a bottle with my eyes closed.
When I got to his room, I changed his diaper -- and, as is always required, wiped him from chubby neck to chubby toes with baby wipes because he was covered in pee -- and changed his clothes.
We crawled into the extra bed in his room, and I plugged the bottle into his mouth.
Like me, his eyes were either closed or open only a slit as he filled his tummy.
His left arm, however, was dancing a jig.
It went up. It went down. It went all around. It grabbed my hair and tugged. It pulled at his newly donned onesie. It scratched my face. It patted his face.
That arm was wide awake, baby. It had business to attend to, things to explore, discoveries to make.
The rest of the baby honestly didn't care. He was happily sucking away, his trunk and legs and right arm and head in a state of slumber. Even my chuckling into his ear didn't wake the sleeping portion of the baby.
When he can talk, the first thing I'm going to ask him is how he does that. I'm thinking I could get in 100 or so sit-ups or crunches a night without having to be awake for them ...
