3:00 a.m.
On sleep (and not)
If you’re around to see 3:00 a.m., you’ve gotten up for some reason or been awake all night. Both are unpleasant in their own right. It is way too early. When did it get so late?
These days, I’m in the former category. O. is a reasonably good sleeper, but he is still a baby. That means he’s agitating to get up a couple of times, usually once around midnight and again at three—though sometimes earlier, sometimes (bless) a bit later.
As his nighttime noises transition from “moderate grunting” to “full-on crying” (or, as often happens, he rips a positively adult person-sized fart as he fills his diaper), I try to remind myself that this won’t last forever.
While I certainly won’t miss the lack of sleep or the dreaming that I got up when actually fuck all has happened—at 3:00 a.m., his wants and mine are firmly at odds—when he gives me a conspiratorial little smile or tucks his chunky foot into the crook of my elbow, I think, well, maybe not so bad after all.