Last night he woke up at midnight and went back to sleep without any response from us. At the 3-ish call Scott gave him a bottle. At 5-ish I went in and nursed him for an hour. Not that I wanted to nurse him for an hour. I fell asleep in the glider and he’s like the energizer bunny sometimes. Nusre-a-thon deja vu.
I, being so tired my eyes were still gluey, pulled him off my boob at 6 and unceremoniously plopped him back in the crib. Cue screaming. I call out none-too-kindly to my doesn’t-deserve-the-tone husband that I’m going back to sleep.
He comes to the bedroom door to find out why he’s being yelled at. I mumble that it’s not his fault and fall into bed. He retorts that I should have let him give a bottle at 5.
Yeah. But I still worry sometimes about milk production. And yesterday there were some bottle-top leak debacles that led to about 6 ounces of spilt milk. Don’t-cry-over. That, plus the milk used to make his morning oatmeal equaled 10 ounces of pumpage — 3-to-5 days of work for me. I didn’t panic. But I did get up at 5 this morning.
I think I’m going to give up the 5 a.m. feeding for as long as Scott is willing to do it and until/if our stash/my ability to pump the night before runs out.
Honey, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry I was cranky this morning. I’m extremely grateful for your help every day. The you-feed-the-baby in the wee hours thing is a freaking Godsend! A thousand thank-yous, another batch of chile verde coming your way, and whatever else, you name it.
And let’s all pray that the feed-me-at-3-and-5 thing doesn’t become a habit. Amen.