One has to wonder if George Romero had any children. I can easily imagine that he was inspired to create his zombies when he looked at himself in the mirror after a few consecutive sleepless nights. I know that when I looked in the mirror recently it was a few seconds before I realised the zombie staring back at me was just my reflection.
I once had a baby who slept through the night. It was bliss. For those few weeks I was happy and rested – and I should have known it was too good to last. Then, suddenly, for three awful weeks Angelique was waking up two (sometimes three) times a night demanding to be fed. Since she can’t actually tell me why she suddenly turned into an insomniac, my best guesses were: teething, a growth spurt, hunger, or a combination of all three.
I really wanted to breastfeed exclusively for six months, which is what the World Health Organisation recommends. But a few sleepless nights got me thinking otherwise. At the beginning of January I began introducing solids. Angelique didn’t immediately spit out her very first spoonful, but she pulled the funniest faces. Hubby, standing by with the video camera, caught every moment of that first feed on tape, capturing precious memories and providing us with blackmail material for the future.
Hubby bought me a baby cook book, so I’m feeling very industrious and homemaker-y as I steam, blend, puree and freeze. Even though Angelique isn’t yet convinced that the spoon entering her mouth is a good thing, she does seem to enjoy my Happy Eating Song. (Yummy, yummy, in your tummy/Chew and chew and swallow/Tasty and nutritious too/Sweet potato’s good for you!) I’ve learned that, mid-giggle, her mouth is open wide enough for me to stick the spoon in.
The good news is that she’s started sleeping better, so I no longer feel like the star of a zombie movie. Or the subject of sleep deprivation experiments. And I think this whole introduction of solids thing is going to be quite entertaining.