For we are old, and greatly need our sleep.

If I’m totally honest, we kind of enjoyed the extra cuddling time. With this being our third child, we’re all too aware of how fast they grow up. And nothing in this world is much cuter than dozing off beside a precious, sleeping baby.

But nothing in this world is much more uncomfortable than contorting around a wiggle worm every night, or being awakened by his hand slapping your face or little feet kicking your rear end. We never went through that with our older two boys, who slept in their own cribs practically from birth. Still too wimpy to attempt crying-it-out with this child, we’ve developed a rather precise bedtime routine. It goes something like this…

Dad gives the bath, puts on the pajamas and gives a bedtime bottle. Then he passes the baby to me. I turn on his sound machine and night light, then make sure the crib rail is down.

Jonah and I settle down on the daybed so he can nurse himself to sleep. This is rarely as peaceful as it sounds. He pokes and pats and wiggles and stands, giggles and chats and babbles. Anywhere from ten to sixty minutes later, he finally slips off to dreamland.

Sadly—because I am old and greatly need my sleep—if he hangs on much beyond twenty minutes, I usually pass out before him. But I try hard to stay awake, because to put him in the crib successfully, I have to catch him at just the right moment. He must be dozing solidly enough to stay asleep when moved, but not having slept so long that he’s in a wakeful cycle again. Because if he wakes up all hope is lost—I must put him in our bed and chalk up another night’s victory for the kid.

When I’m sure he’s in the safe-to-move zone, I slowly start shifting away from his little body until I can gently roll over and sit up.

If he wiggles at all during this process, I freeze for a minute or two before rising. Then I slowly stand, slide my feet into my slippers, and take just a moment to drink in the sight of my precious boy sleeping. With his golden curls glowing in the night light, his cherubic rosy cheeks and relaxed, bow-shaped mouth, he’s simply angelic.

I scoop him up and resettle his heavy body in my arms, then pause before walking to the crib. I bend all the way over so that my chest is still touching his as he makes contact with the mattress, which is covered in the toastiest, softest velour sheet you’ve ever felt.

Inevitably, his eyes crack open a moment, and I just stay bent there, frozen, as he settles back to sleep. Then I slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y begin curling my torso up, keeping both hands on his body. Then I gently, g-e-n-t-l-y peel one hand away, watch for any flinching on his part, and then remove the other hand in the same painstakingly slow process. Then I silently drape his blanket over him.

I creep the bed rail up into position, willing it to not squeak as I lock it into place. Then I tiptoe out of the room, trying ever so hard to keep all my bones and the floor boards from creaking or popping.

Then I slither back down the hall, praying that the child is kind to us and stays asleep. All too often, I hear the familiar winding up of his cry before I’m ten feet away. But those nights he stays put, when we all get uninterrupted sleep in our own beds—they make it worth the nightly rigmarole.

For we are old, and — well, you know the rest.

The baby didn’t go to sleep until 1:00 a.m. so you could say the drama of the morning started then. Poor tot has a head cold and is miserable. I can only think of one thing possibly more miserable than a sick toddler: his parents.

I didn’t even try to make him sleep in his crib, so Donnie and I spent the hours from 11 to 1 taking turns holding, rocking, trying to feed, laying down, ibuprofen — nothing quelled the whining. Jonah finally, blessedly dozed off in my lap while watching Sesame Street. We thought we’d won the battle, at last. So we tiptoed to bed, slipped under the sheets and passed out.

I lost count of how many times Jonah woke in the night. It was a blur of short, fitful naps interspersed with cries, thrashing about, rejected bottles, rejected breast, bitten nipples on both bottle and breast, Donnie pacing, patting, holding, begging, TV on, TV off and every inch of my pillow (and our bodies from the waist up) smeared in baby snot.

A good time was had by all.

And as a side note, HOW did my older two manage to sleep through all that noise? I mean, how? Yet, they did.

Around 8 or so, we awoke to the sound of our cat Max hacking up a hairball. Only, it wasn’t a hairball. It looked like grass and sticks, but the cat never goes outdoors. We finally figured out that Max had been eating the straw sombrero Zach got at the Mexican restaurant over the weekend. Knowing Max’s love affair with all things grass-like, Zach had put the hat on top of his tallest bookshelf so that Max wouldn’t be able to reach it. I still have no idea how that fat cat got up there, but somehow, he did.

Donnie had already planned to have the day off so I could go to a doctor’s appointment, which was great because it’s doubtful he’d have felt up to going in anyway. Shortly after Donnie cleaned up Max’s mess, Jonah woke up, grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV. All by himself. He fell asleep again, tucked into the crook of my arm, while watching Dinosaur Train, so I dozed off again, too.

Next thing I know, icy cold water is pouring over my arm and I bolted upright to find Jonah happily dumping the cup of water from my nightstand all over me and the bed.

If teenagers had to endure one night and morning like the one we’ve had (which was actually the second sleepless night since he got sick), teen pregnancy rates would bottom out. No doubt.

See that cute little butt? Yeah, the boy attached to it owns my bed. And this bed ain’t big enough for three.

But every time I feel inspired to do the hard work required to get him used to sleeping in his own bed, I end up caving. Thus, this week’s Top Ten list of reasons I am totally, utterly conflicted on this whole idea of co-sleeping.

1. I don’t sleep well with a little critter tethered to my boob and/or thrashing about all night long.

2. But I don’t sleep at all with a toddler screaming in the next room. None of us do.

3. I’m not sure the world’s best masseuse could work out the kinks in my neck and shoulders from contorting myself around this baby most every night for the past year.

4. But he’s so precious all cradled up beside me, and this phase of parenting passes so darn fast!

5. The attachment-parenting people say crying it out is mean, and that children who are forced to do it turn out…psychotic or something. (It certainly feels mean while you’re doing it.)

6. Zach and Eli both cried-it-out and were excellent sleepers before they were a year old. They’re still good sleepers. And as far as I can tell, they are psychologically sound. Healthy, even. Sweet and kind. They know they’re loved. It’s all good.

7. But the crying, the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching crying–I have outgrown my ability to endure it!

8. But my current idea of heaven is what I dream of: sleeping alone, spread-out flat in the middle of a nest of pillows, for at least eight hours straight. (Sorry, hubby, you’re not in this particular dream.)

9. Speaking of the hubs, I know he misses the quiet solitude of just us in our bedroom, and wonders if that will ever be again.

10. But we both believe in the benefits of extended breastfeeding with baby-led weaning. Jonah’s too distracted to nurse much during the day. If I cut him off at night, he’ll miss a good bit of the amazing nutrition and immunity only my milk can give him.

I am no closer to my solution after writing this out, but I totally welcome suggestions and input from other mothers!

For more Top Ten Tuesday lists, visit Amanda!

Tomorrow’s column mentions briefly Eli’s encounter with poison ivy last week. It’s on the side of his face. I thought he had an infected cut on his cheek and ear, but the doctor said otherwise.

Tonight, Zach showed me spots on his arms. He thought they were bug bites. Then I saw a welt on his face that wasn’t there earlier.

Yep, he got into the ivy, too.

I just hope it doesn’t show up on Jonah. Or me and Donnie. I’m still getting over my bee sting, and these horrible allergies! Is it just me, or is this fall particularly brutal allergy-wise here in Georgia? I sneezed like, ten times in a row earlier today. I never do that.

So now that I’ve moaned and whined about health issues like a grumpy old lady, I’m taking some sinus medicine and going to bed.

And hoping that my darling angel baby lets me sleep more than the three cumulative hours he reluctantly granted me last night.

Oops. There I go grumbling again. Goodnight!

“So…what are you, a vampire?”

Um…I had no idea what he was talking about. I wasn’t even wearing black!

“Huh?” I asked.

“I wondered about you when my Blackberry went off at 3:15 this morning,” he replied.

After a moment, I realized what I had done. I stayed up late working on the final photo edits for my grandmother’s funeral slide show. I emailed it to him before turning in a little after 3:00 this morning. I had no idea that doing so could’ve woken anyone up. I  felt SO bad for disturbing him!

He said it wasn’t a big deal, that he usually turns his phone off at night. BUT, that night, his daughter was traveling and he wanted to make sure he left it on in case she needed to reach him.

Poor man. It’s almost never a good thing when the phone rings at 3:00 a.m! And he was already thinking about his daughter. I bet his heart stopped a moment when he heard his phone ring!

I apologized—profusely—and we all had a good laugh. He was a great sport about it.

Y’all know how warped I am, though. I’m half-tempted to  send him another email tonight at 3:00 and simply type:

“Hey. Whatcha doin’?”

1. I feel like I might never know what it’s like to be well-rested again.

2. I would need to sleep for a month to catch up.

3. Do the right thing. Especially when you don’t want to.

4. You are completely unique.  Just like everyone else.

5. It’s hard to know how much other people think about you. But however much you think they do, in reality, it’s probably far less. (Something I’m trying to instill in my almost-teenaged son, who is entering that phase of life where he’s convinced that everyone is looking at him and judging him somehow.)

6. It seems that whatever my husband does, my sons follow suit.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to going to bed early, tomorrow my plans include sleeping in and Sunday, I want to spend the day in bed, but I can’t, because it’s my wonderful husband’s birthday and we are going to celebrate him!

For more Friday Fill-ins, click here.

His name means “dove”, which is the symbol of peace.

Asleep on my chest, he fulfills his name, and more…

For more Straight Out of the Camera photos, visit Slurping Life.

By 11:15, he is totally zonked out. I kiss him, put him in his crib, and tiptoe into the kitchen, where I kiss my husband Donnie goodnight as he passes me on his way to bed.

All boys tucked in? Check! My time has arrived!

I switch out the laundry, get something to drink, and sit down to check email.

Twenty minutes pass. I hear a familiar little baby whine that quickly grows into “Waah…waaaaah….WAAAAH!”

Donnie goes in to the nursery to do his back-patting magic. It doesn’t work. He tries his cradle-hold and swaying magic. It isn’t so magical tonight. That means just one thing: Mama Time.

I lay down in our bed for Nursing Session 2. Soon, Jonah is out cold again. Donnie picks him up to carry him to bed, and says what no parent wants to hear at midnight.

“His diaper leaked.”

So we double-team and change him as quickly as we can, trying hard to adhere to the excellent advice we learned when our oldest was an infant: always keep nighttime different from daytime. Don’t interact with a baby any more than necessary when you’re trying to get him to sleep. Keep the lights dim, your voices low, and try not to speak unless you have to.

Jonah is wide-awake and works hard to lure us into playing with him. He grins, laughs, throws out some Mamas and Dadas. It is hard to keep a straight face.

At this point, the only thing that might work is for me to become the human pacifier again. So we lay down in my dark, quiet bedroom. He nurses, but by this point, the well is running a little dry. He fusses; I pass him off to dad. Jonah’s cries grow angrier, so I schlep off to the kitchen to make him a bottle.

Four ounces of warm formula later, his heavy eyelids close. He sighs and I feel him start to relax in my arms.

Then my nose begins to tickle.

“No! Not a sneeze! Not now!” I think as the tickle magnifies and Jonah goes totally limp in my arms.

I reach up to pinch my nose, but I’m a second too late. “Ah—CHOO!!!”

Dozing Donnie bolts upright and exclaims, “What was that?” And Jonah sits up, too.

“I sneezed.” I can’t help giggling.

“Oh. I thought something crashed into the house,” Donnie mumbles as he falls back onto his pillow.

I lay down with a wide-awake again Jonah, his Royal Cuteness tucked between me and his drowsy father. It is so dark in our room, lit only by the faintest golden glow from the bathroom nightlight. Jonah’s pale face reflects the glow like a tiny, perfect moon, and his eyes are wide, black circles staring up at me, trying to engage me again. I can’t help but smile, and he starts chatting.

He sounds like the little night owl he is, his voice echoing loudly through the still house.

“Hoo. OOOH. Oooh. HOO. Oooooooooooooooh.”

That gets no reaction, so he flops over onto his back and switches it up.

“Da. Dada. DaaaaDAH! DUH-dah. DehDehDehDeh….DAD.”

I’m stifling giggles and wondering how Donnie is sleeping through this.

Then Jonah runs through it all again at a whisper. “Daah…dah dah…duh-da. Dada.”

His chit-chat goes on and on, and I am pretty firmly convinced that the child is just not going to sleep tonight.

“Hoooo Dat! Oh HOO Dat!” He is hollering like the world’s littlest New Orleans Saints Fan.

I manage to swallow my laughter and lay still and quiet. I recall reading that a sleeping infant will match his breathing to his mother’s. So I start breathing heavily, rhythmically, as though asleep. I don’t know if that works, or if Jonah’s just run out of things to say, but I can see the little black circles of his eyes melt into crescents as his blinks become longer…and longer.

Carried off to his crib, he doesn’t make a peep.

Finally, he sleeps.

Until 3:45, when he ralphs on my shoulder, and we start it all over again.

(Click on images to see them larger.)

I love the drowsy eyelids and the sheet wrinkles on the side of his face.

And the bedhead. Love the bedhead!

P.S. Anyone know why my Canon PowerShot is suddenly taking all pictures in this letterbox-size format? I don’t know what I did to make it do that, and I want it to go back. Help? LOL

For more Straight Out of the Camera Saturday/Sunday posts, visit Slurping Life.

2. The solution is usually right under your nose when you stop looking for it.

3. I think teething is what’s making it hard this week for Jonah to fall asleep.

4. How about them Dawgs. I‘m sorry, but I’m a Georgia Girl of the 8o’s. It’s impossible for me to hear that question and not automatically fill in “them Dawgs”!

5. Making time for your husband is something I highly recommend!

6. Imagine if common sense came back in vogue and our nation relied on that for decision-making instead of all the stupid things I see happening around me?

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to hanging out with my sister, tomorrow my plans include going to my writers group meeting and after, buying some cheese (seriously–we’re out) and Sunday, I want to do the usual: church, chill at home, then go to small group!

For more Friday Fill-Ins, click here.