Happy seventh, AND eighth months. I was intending to turn over a new leaf after your fourth and fifth month combined update. “What kind of mother am I that I can’t sit down once a month and write a simple letter to my growing son about his milestones and achievements?” A busy, working, slightly* sleep deprived mother, that’s the kind.
In these last two months, you officially started moving around, figured out how to be lazy, learned to sit on your own AND forgot how to sleep through the night. That’s right. You forgot. The skill, or instinct, or whatever it is that had you sleeping all night at 5 weeks just went away. This will forever teach me for bragging at Gymboree about your wonderful sleep habits when you were three months old. This is my comeuppance for seeing overly tired children in supermarkets and thinking (only slightly mischievously) that that wouldn’t be us in a few months because my baby is such a fine sleeper, and can certainly get through the night without a feeding, or a cuddle, thank you very much. He SELF soothes. He’s just that secure. Somewhere between five and six months your amazing sleeping ability gradually went away. 
At first we thought it was another growth spurt, because you had experienced those before. So, we fed you. At first it was once, and on the rare case, twice a night. Then you would sleep for three or four nights uninterrupted, and start waking up again.
And the protests. My god, the protests. Your wakeup protests have rapidly escalated from your usual, “Hey, it’s me…I’m hungry/tired/bored/wet/otherwise…so when you have a brief moment to attend to me great, and in the meantime, I’ll be playing with my foot, so no worries here because I’m a self soother,” to “HEY – GET IN HERE – MY LEFT FOOT HAS MOST DEFINITELY BEEN SEVERED AT THE ANKLE AND THERE IS A GIANT PURPLE ELEPHANT HOPPING ON ONE FOOT AROUND MY ROOM THREATENING TO POUNCE ON ME.” On more than one occasion over the last two months your father* or I has awoken, and lunged out of bed and in the general direction of your room, usually stubbing a toe and tripping over a pair of my shoes that end up in the path to reach your bedside only to have you look up from your rant and give us one of your amazingly cute (at normal waking hours) toothless grins. Despite the smiles, we spent about two weeks saying to each other things like, “Our baby doesn’t cry like this in the middle of the night. There must be something wrong.” All stupid and new-parent crazy.
Our initial concerns were legitimate, to some degree. We had a hunch that you were teething. The timing was right, the nighttime wake ups a common indicator, and, of course, there was enough drool to sink a ship. Two months in, attempts at using Tylenol and Baby Motrin, and no teeth later, and we’re beginning to question the validity of the teething theory for now, although we know those days are fast approaching.
Then, we noticed that the waking became a response to rolling over and ending up on your belly. Why oh why, dear child, can’t you figure out that rolling over to your side or back at night is the same as rolling over during the day. During the day, you would roll from here to Baltimore if we let you; you are such a rolling machine. At night, it seems that the ability to roll takes a short pleasure cruise.
Perhaps your rolling ability needs a break from all of the rolling you accomplish when the sun is up. Really, and truthfully, it is one of my favorite things lately to watch you spy a toy you want on the other side of your play mat (which is considerably longer than you are) and decide that you’re going to roll to get it. Your face changes from your normal baby happy face to this look of complete focus and determination. You pucker your lips and stick the tip of your tongue through them, screw up your nose and squint a bit. Then you start to roll, and roll, and roll until you can reach whatever it is you want. 
You’ve also learned how to be lazy, and I think this is even funnier to me than the rolling, as I see bits of myself in your personality at times like this. Lately if you’re lying on a blanket on the floor and you notice something in the distance that is just out of reach, instead of expending energy to roll yourself to it, you pull your blanket towards you to bring it closer, then with a giant stretch you get it. No rolling required.
My favorite part of these moments is the look on your face when you’ve successfully retrieved what you want. It’s less a look of satisfaction, and more a smirk, like in your mind you’re thinking about how much smarter you are than the rest of us.Your unique and wonderful personality has continued to make you a hit at Play and Learn. Over April and May, Daddy was home more than we had originally expected, thus, you were at daycare much less than was becoming normal. Your teachers were always disappointed when we would call you out, and genuinely so happy to see you when you would return. And finally, I realized that your experiences there are good ones, and really important for you developmentally when one morning, I took you there after you had been away for a few days.
When I brought you into the room, one of the babies immediately crawled over to where you were sitting and began waving her arms around wildly, with this enormous smile on her face, a smile that you echoed completely. She then reached out and patted your hand, and you patted her head. These babies have become your friends, and it makes me so happy to think that they miss you when you’re not there and are happy to see you when you return.Now, if we could only figure out how to help you sleep 10-12 hours a night again, we’ll all be in good shape.
I love you, even at 3:00 in the morning*,
Mommy
* It should be noted that Skip wakes up with Alex about 99.9% of the time…because he is just that good, and I am fully aware that I do not deserve him. He also cooks and cleans. Let the barfing begin.
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