At our last Speck check, the midwife asked if I was having any trouble sleeping. I was forced to heartily agree that I am experiencing all kinds of sleep issues, and dragging everyone else I know into sleeplessness right along with me. The midwife was very sympathetic, and began suggesting a long list of ways to minimize the discomfort of sharing body space with Giant Speck (who medical experts continue to insist is a normal-sized fetus. I know differently). When she began searching for a pamphlet describing different herbs and drugs that might help, I had to interrupt and explain that while Speck is taking up way more than her fair share of room in my abdomen, and while she does kick like a baby maniac late into the night, my most recent sleep issues
are not so much the fault of this baby ...
...as they are the fault of this one.
Max is teething, and not loving it, and so we have had a series of rough nights. Max has been late going to bed, and then he has been waking up frequently and demanding his old place in the big bed. With both he and I being so much larger, though, this is not the fix-all solution it once was. Max keeps turning sideways halfway through the night, and Ian claims that he has had any number of dreams where he is being pounded, axe-kicked, and kneaded, only to awaken and find Max's feet making his dreams come true. I, on the other hand, have not even slept enough to reach REM sleep, so I am feeling all kinds of awesome. Upon hearing this tale of woe, the midwife laughed and said that while there were herbs and drugs that might help with our problems, they were not the kinds of herbs or drugs that she was licensed to administer. Stupid, non-tranquilizer-dart-giving midwife.
And yet, later that same day, when we beheld Max trying valiantly to share his milk with his baby sister through my belly button, we still had to agree that we are, on the whole, glad that we had him. Axe kicks, teething, and all.