The Real Deal on Garbage Sleep
Sleep. Is that how you spell it? It's been so long, I've forgotten what it looks like. My days consist of giggling and cooing to a sweet little babe. My nights, however, are more about glaring at a baby monitor and muttering unrepeatables at the screen. This being our second time around the track, the hub and I knew that the early months would be defined by survival - do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe, sane and reasonably healthy. For me, that meant forging a butt groove in the corner of our sectional, and watching Netflix in the wee hours of the morning while my curly-haired newborn slept soundly on my torso. The months went on. Eventually, we graduated from that ridiculous setup, to sleeping in a play yard in our room, and then to a crib in his. The transitions went okay, but his quality of sleep was garbage: nursing to sleep, waking every few hours, crying for comfort or cuddles or just for the fun of it. We forgave it for awhile, blaming sleep regr