Small talk

When co-workers know you have a newborn at home, discussion of your sleeping patterns becomes fair game.

It's an unusual situation, as you'd never otherwise talk about such things.

"Hey, how's it going."
"Good. How'd you sleep last night?"
"Did you just ask me how I slept?"
(Uncomfortable pause) "So, how about those Leafs?"

But with the baby, asking about sleep is as natural as commenting on the weather. So far, my response is always entirely positive. Abby has been, on the whole, a great sleeper. Interestingly, having another baby around the house has reminded me of some of the experiences with Owen at this age.

Owen was also a good sleeper. By the time he was a few weeks old, he was up only once or twice at night, and only for quick feeds. But for those first weeks, he was unpredictable. I remember bringing him downstairs at night when he wasn't showing any interest in going back to sleep, and we would hang out on the couch and watch TV. He would usually drift off, and I'd go back upstairs and attempt to gingerly put him back in his bassinet. Then would come the hardest part — lying down in bed, and hoping not to hear any sounds of stirring. You're entirely ready to sleep, he's been silent for a full minute, and then:

Rustle, rustle.
Grunt.
Sniffle.
Rustle. Rustle.
Squeak.

At this point I'd get up and scoop him up again, as the squeak was the prelude to a full-on cry. Then it was back downstairs.

This actually didn't happen much, and I had almost entirely forgotten doing it, but the other night I put Abby down, and as I lay in bed hoping she would remain asleep, the memories of doing just that with Owen came back.

Abby stayed down on the first try. Owen's going to be so mad when he's old enough to read this.