Well, there's no way to be certain whether Lucy is awake at night because she's getting some teeth. If only she were getting some words--that would be most helpful. All I know is that sleep is a precious commodity, one I seem not to be able to afford at the moment. If I could buy three hours of connected sleep, I would. If only.
Lucy had to have some surprise up her little sleeve, though. Being the fourth child isn't interesting unless you can keep your parents guessing a bit. I remember when Iain was a baby, thinking that he never stumped me. Even his dramatic visit to hospital at thirteen days old, which included a spinal tap, chest x-ray and 48 hours of IV antibiotics (while remaining in hospital) did not puzzle me. I was grateful for my experience with Anna in the cardiac ICU, which made the whole hospital ordeal psychologically manageable. Not that it was easy, of course--just manageable.
Thankfully. Lucy presents us with challenges of a less dramatic, if more exhausting kind. Often, I put her down between 9 and 10, and crawl into bed myself, absolutely shattered, only to have her wake up at 11.30 and not let me put her down again. All night. If I am lucky, she'll lie down with me for a bit and I can catch a few minutes of horizontal sleep. But only if I am really lucky.
We're thinking it's teeth. There is physical evidence to support this hypothesis. So we've got the calpol (tylenol) and bonjela (whose US equivalent I've forgotten--but it goes on her gums directly). She seems to be a bit better with these interventions.
And me? Could you pass me that bottle of syrah, please, and tell me that this will pass?
