I’d say being awake at 3:30 am was nesting, except that it’s not a completely irregular thing. All it takes is something to wake me up a little past coherent (and sometimes it takes nothing at all) and my mind predictably soars into awareness.
I can feel it coming. Once I realize I’m awake, then I have to quietly fight to keep from thinking about the baby, a glass of water, the dog, the computer, my wife, work and then…it’s over. I’m awake and it’s impossible to lay there. Every sound is sandpaper.
I know she’s having more trouble sleeping and that her wrists sting, her nose is swollen and she probably has to pee. Tonight, you can throw in a restless dog with inexplicably swollen eyes, fresh sheets (can you believe I get distracted by clean sheets?) and restless anxiety that manifests as noise intolerance, a tight jaw and worry that mosquitoes are biting me. Vegas, you are in for a treat.
In fact, if he were out here now, this is what I’d tell him: today we said an almost goodbye to your great-grandmother. It seems like days instead of weeks and my heart breaks for you and for your mother. Your other great-grandmothers aren’t far behind and it would be terrible to go from three to one (or none) before you get here. Not even on the same plane of terrible is the heat, your mother’s swollen feet and the unbelievable clutter in the house. Vegas, honey, I love you, but all your not-so-tiny things are bringing me down. Or rather, keeping me up. It’s dawn and I shouldn’t be thinking about your playpen.
That pretty much sums up life right now. It’s dawn and I shouldn’t be thinking about a playpen.