So last night, ‘A2’ woke up at, oh, who really cares? He woke up. It was the wrong time and it was inconvenient for everyone. All I know is that it was after I brought him up to bed and after I was asleep.
Jessica fed him, changed his diaper and then he went back to sleep. That’s what she tells me, anyway.
Then, at 2:00, he wakes up again. After you’ve had a couple weeks with a kid, you start to recognize whether or not it’s going to be one of those, “wake up, take a bottle and go to sleep” or, “wake up, stay awake and then stay awake some more” things. It was the latter (almost needless to say but since this is going to be a short post, I said it anyway).
So, as is the routine, when baby doesn’t go right back to sleep, I volunteer to take him down (secretly wishing that his Fairy Godmother will swoop in and volunteer to do it for me) and, here it is, 2:15 or so in the morning and I’m sitting in my favorite rocking recliner. You know, the one that gives me such great dreams?
Baby is finally asleep in my arms and I’m dozing off in “The Chair of Dreams.” Now, this dream was not as clear as my last one but in it, I was apparently some guy who had figured out that Norman Bates was a psycho. Not only that, but I was to meet him in a parking garage (because, you know, parking garages are always the safe place to meet psychotic killers. At least it wasn’t a shower; that would have just been weird on several levels). I meet Norman in the garage where he comes at me with an ice pick. But before he does, I somehow explain to him that I can help him get better.
He drops the ice pick and starts crying. Explains that he wants to get better and is thankful to me for my help. I explain to him that if he really wants my help, he needs to drop the other ice pick that he’s hiding up his sleeve. He gives me a look of shock, wonders how I knew, and drops it.
Then the baby woke up. I have no idea if I live or die. No idea if I helped out poor ol’ Norm or anything. Guess that dream’s “to be continued.”