Step 1, 8pm – Wake up from the nap that I had after dinner. Recall how much I enjoyed the sweet potato sticks that my
delusional parents tried letting me chew swallow according to the “baby led weaning” method. Miss said sweet potato food. Cry.
Step 2, 9pm – Parents try to comfort me, mother by offering the breast and father by playing a silly game with me. They have picked me up from my bed and put me on their nice warm bed with the expensive memory foam topper. Good. Be happy and laugh. Roll around said expensive bed so that parents do not have room to be comfortable, despite its King size.
Step 3, 10pm – Enough of the boob juice and games. Mother is nodding off while feeding me, and father has retreated to the shining bright square block he calls “phone”. I’m bored. Cry. Feed. Laugh. Accidentally doze off zzzzzzzz
Step 4, 11pm – Sweet dreams are made of this….
Step 5, 12am – Indigestion? Thirst? Turn over, open eyes and yelp a little. Fade back into slumber.
Step 6, 1am – Pee in diaper. Wait a minute, why does my tummy feel weird? Constipation? Does this have something to do with the vaccination I had this morning? Where’s my sweet potato sticks? Indigestion. Thirst.
Step 7, 2am – Shriek. Yell. Vociferate. I want something in my mouth NOW! Or maybe I don’t. Decide that since I got some boob juice, I’ll sleep for awhile. Then wake up in half an hour. Repeat process to make sure that Mother is woken up in the middle of her REM-dream-cycle and will be super groggy. (They are more pliant when you wear them down, you see.)
Step 8, 3am – Father wakes up and moves across the bed to see what’s happening. Mother asks him for water to give me, he hands her the Ikea sippy cup with the leaky spout. Mother attempts to use cup to feed me water. I move. Water spills. Cry. But drink the water anyway.
They are now disagreeing about whether or not to change my onesie because apparently, not changing it will make me catch a chill, but changing it will render me wide awake and unable to go back to sleep.
Step 9, 4am – I’m still not asleep. Mother tries to let me sleep over her shoulder. I don’t feel like being in this position now. Make a dry cough just to confuse them.
They are now running through the list of things that could be wrong.
They think I might have a piece of food stuck in my esophagus from dinner.
Or I’m having constipation and straining to poo.
Or I’m cold.
Or I’m having fever.
(Parents fumble with thermometer, take multiple readings and google “is 35 degrees considered fever for a baby?”)
Mother asks for water in a bottle that doesn’t spill. Father goes to the kitchen and warms up a bottle of milk instead. They now
quarrel discuss about whether I need to be fed water or milk.
Step 10, 5am – Yowl, as if in pain, but not so convincingly so that they are confused whether I’m just tired. They finally figure out that I soiled myself. Father changes my diaper, poo a
toothpaste tube big amount again while he is doing the deed. Cry because this is a new sensation and I’m upset that my poop is different after having solid foods. Alternate between playing and crying again after the diaper change. Repeat the poo performance.
They now have a bottle of milk AND a bottle of water for me. I’m sleeping on their bed. More incoherent discussions.
“It’s the BLW, she took too much sweet potato and she can’t digest it. (Parent googles “what to do if baby swallows a big chunk of food” and spends half an hour reading forums, academic papers, and parenting websites.)
“PLEASE sleep, baby. I’ll feed you puree and water until you’re four. I’ll give you a thermal blanket. I’ll hug you forever.”
“What’s wrong with my baby? I need answers. We’re going to the doctor after this, we’ll be first in line.”
Step 11, 6am – zzzzzzzzz
Mother swears to never feed me sweet potato again, collapses to sleep. Father scrolls google endlessly.
Step 12, 7am – Wake up. Smile and laugh happily. Mother mutters something about going to get up to get ready for work, but she’s too tired to move her body. Smile some more and touch her face. Where is my sweet potato?