Buddhalijah, so named for his adorable belly, decided at 1:15 this morning–that’s A.M. for anyone who’s interested–that it would be a good time to stand up in his crib, the crib whose mattress we haven’t adequately lowered yet because who knew he could pull himself up like that already, and call for attention.  This by the boy that sleeps through the night.  Every night.  11-hour clockwork.

I stumbled to his room, opened the door, and watched as he, in the dark, like a newly felled tree, tipped backwards.  THUNK.  Yes, it was inside the crib, but it scared him and woke him up more thoroughly, and caused me to realize that this kid, the kid who just learned to crawl yesterday, is not only capable of curling himself over the rails of his confinement, but also falling, hard, indescriminately.  I had visions of those sweet cheeks and that santa claus belly only slightly cushioning a very long fall to the hard wood beneath them.

So the mattress had to be lowered.  Right that minute.  And by the time the light was turned on and the lowering done, and a round of rocking, and wailing in the crib, and nursing, and rocking, and wailing in the crib, and bedtime music, and rocking, and wailing in his sleep, because the whole ordeal, we think, was started by gas, he finally conked off before 4.

All you parent readers?  I’m sorry I ever thought you ought to be more cheerful or well-rested.  Or well-adjusted.  I’m really sorry.

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