N is as attached to sleeping as I am to eating. Wake the fellow up a second before 7 am, and you’ll see a monster emerge. Throughout the pregnancy, he begged me to make sure the baby wouldn’t disturb his sleep. I had to listen to countless stories about the mangled bodies of drivers who fell asleep behind the wheel on the highway and crashed their cars.
After Klara was born, N discovered that his sleep was not in the least disturbed because I always get up for her long before she feels the need to scream. He was as profoundly grateful to me for doing all the night feedings as I would be to somebody who’d give me a charcuterie basket for Christmas. I’m honest, so I tried telling him that the gratitude was misplaced and that I loved getting up at night to feed Klara even more than I like being in the presence of a balanced charcuterie board. He thought that I was simply being magnanimous and thanked me even more.
And then he did one early morning feeding and realized that I was telling the truth: getting up to feed and change the baby at night is literally extremely pleasant. She is so cuddly, sleepy, aromatic and silky that one is hard-pressed to think of a more enjoyable activity. So now Mr. Don’t Wake Me Up Before Seven or I Will Die a Horrible Death is jumping up before 6 am to feed and change Klara and is asking if he can do all the night-time feedings over the weekend (no, he can’t because I love doing them).
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