The baby has a cold, but the effects of the cold only seem to kick in at night. During the day while I'm out in the rain running errands for my mom, who inevitably calls to say, "Hey, while you're out can you stop by such and such and pick up such and such," Layla is a perfect angel. Or other than a runny nose, she's appears as healthy as a horse. But at night, the clingy unable to sleep side comes out.
Every hour or two, we're up. Or rather she's up and I follow suit. Sometimes I try to comfort her in the bed. Sometimes she's talkative and ask for a cup of milk or juice so we wander to the kitchen. But whatever state she's in, one thing remains true she has to remain in direct contact with me. So the clothes that need to put up, stay where they are. The gifts that need to be wrapped stay unwrapped because she can't lose contact and she doesn't want to sit in my lap or lay in my lap and sleep while I wrap. Doesn't want to sleep on my shoulder as I place clothes in their proper drawers.
So I'm awake with nothing to do but hold my baby, which if I wasn't so tired from the night before being up all night with her and my mind didn't go over all the things left to do, I would enjoy it.
The other morning at around 5AM, she felt better and wanted to chill out next to me so I started wrapping gifts as she watched The New Scooby Doo Christmas episodes and I listened to Christmas music. Sitting there, I paused and stared up at her and realized how it reminded me of Vietnam. Me with my insomnia, she with her "What schedule?! I was on a strict schedule for the last 11 months of my life? Surely you jest" routine and we'd lay on the bed. I would email people, while she crawled on the bed with some American show playing softly in the background. Ah, just like old times.
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