Wrestlemania

It's no secret: Our kid doesn't sleep. I mean that in the most literal form. From the day he was born, he was up and at 'em every 2 hours all day, all night....driving us dangerously close to oblivion. Thinking back on it, neither one of us should have been operating motor vehicles. Many of our friends/family/doctors have shared their secrets and bragged about their children being fabulous sleepers. We like to think that Pollard has many talents, and staying asleep is not one of them.

As he has matured into quite a large 7 month old...mmm...eh...things have slightly improved. Going to bed at night is a breeze. It's GLORIOUS. The baby loves to go night-night. Nap time, a wee different. The only way we can describe what has to be done to get this baby to nap is Wrestlemania. It starts with him grunting. Then we pick up the baby, try all the "usual" positions to try and rock him to sleep. He grunts, spits out his paci, starts dying out laughing. Oh my gosh kid you've been up for SIX HOURS.

We try all the stations: our bed, the den couch with Noggin, the rocker, the stroller. Nothing. Not even a sign of eyes closing, just straight up Wrestlemania.

This term involves, but is not limited to, an overload of grunting, many kicks and punches (usually to said parents face and gut), crawling while being held, divebombing into pillows/covers/my boobs, laughing, and crying. All while we try our hardest to wrap our arms around him and make him surrender.

This afternoon I have spent an hour and a half trying to get this baby to take a nap. Since he woke up at 8 this morning (after a bottle at 6 and falling back asleep with me while hitting me in his sleep), he has slept for a total of about 35 minutes all day. What?!

Afternoon of wrestling baby into submission equals this...

And now...I go shower.