Americans love talk of sleep.

Tonight I sat in our darkened bedroom watching Chad dance Evan to sleep. Actually, he just tried to dance him to sleep; eventually Evan demanded I nurse him to sleep. I wanted to freeze that moment, Chad with this baby who seems so big, but is really still so small and sweet, swaying in circles, softly shushing, his lips brushing against Evan’s silky (sparse) hair.

Evan is now four months old, and I am now thirty years old. I lingered in the mirror yesterday morning, squinting my eyes and watching to make sure the crow’s feet disappeared when I relaxed my face. Wrinkles. Who cares.

My days are mostly like this. I sleep with Evan in our bedroom while Chad sleeps in the office on the futon. I miss being the little spoon, but love baby snuggles, especially since he’s actually big enough to snuggle me back. His feet stamp on my thighs. Usually around four or five or six in the morning, I tire of nursing Evan back to sleep every couple hours and instead pick up the squirmy baby and carry him to his father. I try to sleep by myself until around 7, then I scramble to get out the door by 7:59. Have to be clean, look professional, eat breakfast, pack lunch, and most importantly, not forget any of the 27 small plastic things I have to bring to work to pump. Bottles, lids, tubes, flanges, ice packs … Lug it all to the train. Work until 4:45, the whole time thinking about Chad and Evan, texting Chad to send me pictures, did he pee, did he eat, was it a big poop. I could make an entire day of getting to work, getting settled, answering email, getting ready to pump, walking over there, pumping, washing up, walking back, getting settled, answering email, etc. I come home, so tired, but so eager to hold Evan, and it is the best part of my day when he smiles at me after work. Nothing in my life has ever felt so right. We nurse. While he eats, I vacillate between staring into his blue eyes, stroking his cheeks with my fingers and scanning the apartment looking for Things I Really Need to Get Done Tonight. Clear off that table. Sort those papers. Pay those bills. Purge those newborn clothes. Dust those shelves. Sweep those floors. Find those recipes. I rarely get anything done besides nursing, bathing the baby, eating, washing 27 small plastic things and falling into bed again.

I took Friday off work, mostly because I felt bad for myself because my closest friends were all out of town for my birthday, and in general my own birthdays make me sad, especially when there’s no one to make me feel better about it. But Chad did make me feel better about it. A day of some of my favorite things, most of them edible. Steep and Brew coffee, French-Canadian beer, chocolate cake with caramel and cool whip, aged cheddar, a massage therapist with dreadlocks. I went to the gym and did a 5K. I sent Chad out of the apartment with Evan and watched girly tv. I went to dinner and ordered the duck.

Things we need to figure out soon.
-Do we need to sign another lease here?
-Is Chad going back to work?
-Daycare? Center? Home? Nanny?
-Do I work part time? Where do I look for work?