Sunday, October 17, 2010


In my own fairytale world, I expected the first night home with Cruz would be something out of a commercial for Disney World.  You know the one.  The young couple cuddles up and watches their baby softly sleep in a dimly lit room, the reflection of the Walt Disney Castle glowing through a picture window.  Calming, peaceful, and serene. 

Completely unrealistic. 

It's all a matter of expectations.  Beau thought our first night went well.  I thought it was something to the effect of taking a bad hallucinogen before bed.  I'm used to getting a good seven to eight hours of sleep a night, and three hours was a bit of a shock to my system.  We basically took shifts, caught up on our DVR, and held a sleeping Cruz.  The problem was not in his lack of sleep, but in our lack of knowledge of how to get him to sleep in a place other than our two arms.  When I was on Cruz duty, Beau could fall asleep before his head hit the pillow.  When Beau was on Cruz duty, I laid wide awake, listening for sounds of a baby, as well as the beat of my own heart in my chest.  It was a weird night, a night I'm sure other first-time parents can completely relate to. 

At one time in the night, I believe around 4 o'clock in the morning, I went in the living room to see how Beau was doing.  Sound asleep in the recliner as Swamp People played in the background on TV, I took Cruz from Beau and told him to go to bed.  As he got up from his sleep bender, one eye a little cocked, he glanced down at the recliner and in horror, shouted, "What is that?" pointing to a sleeve of my gray sweater that had been left on the seat. 

"Just my sweater." I replied to my half-awake husband.

As he came to, he realized that it indeed was my sweater, not a pile of poo that he thought Cruz had left behind.  Hallucinogen, I'm telling you.

Yes, sleep has taken on a whole new meaning in the Jorgensen household.  Sleep is now defined by a "good hour's" instead of a good "night's."  Nights two and three were already overwhelmingly better than night one.  Cruz has even decided his crib is as comfy as it looks.  Last night, Beau and I shared a double high-five when we woke up and realized our little nut had been sleeping soundly in his bed for two hours.  It's the little things now, baby.   

No matter how scattered or zombie-like our nights have been this week, nothing is more worthwhile than staring into the face of our little peanut.  Snuggling him in tight between us as we welcome the morning sun into our room on a Saturday morning.  Picking him up from his crib in the middle of the night and rocking him back to sleep as the sounds of Death Cab for Cutie and Van Morrison play in the background.  Listening to him breathe deeply against my chest as I catch up on Dancing with the Stars at two o'clock in the morning.  Staring into his sweet little face and smelling the top of his head after he gets done eating and goes comatose on my chest.  The accomplished feeling of waking up to realize your baby has been sleeping on his own, in his crib, for a solid two hours.  Life has definitely changed, but it's taken on this softer, sweeter meaning for us as a family.  It's the little things now, baby.

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