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Abby's typical sleep-stretch. This is not to be confused with her sleep-spasm or her sleep-fist-pump.

Well, I almost forgot to write a blog post today.

I can’t imagine how that could have happened.  Maybe it’s the fact that I have a ten-day-old child sleeping in my room these days, a baby that loves nothing more than waking up her mom every 2-3 hours to treat her like a personal dairy farm.  I didn’t know how I would do sleeping next to an all-night milk convenience store, but it turns out that I am easily woken by slurping noises at 3 AM.

Of course I shouldn’t be complaining; I don’t have to provide Abby with food, and Erin is considerate enough to rarely ever wake me for some late-night company, even when I’m not working the next day.

Last night, however, she did jar me a bit by attempting to lift up and cradle my arm at about 2:00.  I guess she woke up thinking that she had fallen asleep breastfeeding Abby.  The blankets and my forearm made a remarkably deceptive surrogate child for her.  It reminds me of the days early in our marriage (you know, the days where we actually got to sleep through the night) where she would abruptly start a loud conversation with me about grocery stores while fast asleep.  Even fully unconscious, she would respond if I talked back to her.  I guess she’s just prone to nighttime imaginings.

Maybe she passed that along to Abby.  It would explain her strange sleep spasms, the ones where her arms and legs suddenly shoot out in all directions like she’s trying to slow down a nocturnal freefall.  She never stays that way for long; she’ll quickly return to her default, scrunched-up sleep position, slapping her lips together and dreaming about whatever it is that babies dream.

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