Some weekends are like this. Cold and gray, with temps dipping below freezing in early October. The stupid teachers at stupid daycare gave your milk-allergic daughter milk again (more on that another day – she is fine, by the way). Then everyone in the family develops flu-like symptoms one by one. And … the baby stops sleeping.
When the baby stops sleeping, I sometimes end up on the streets of Solna, walking with him in my arms so he will not scream and wake up his sister in our tiny little apartment. I did this last weekend up in the country, and that was almost cozy, a sky so full of stars and dark trees talking in the woods. It was a little dramatic the first time the first night in Solna, wandering the empty streets, trying to take some time for my own thoughts.
By the second time last night, however, I just wanted back in my bed. And this is where the doors and keys and lights get complicated.
See, it is really hard to get the keys out of your pocket when you are holding a baby (no sling, because I cannot get him out of it without waking him up). Then the front door squeaks — loudly. Then the lobby is super bright and super warm. Then the apartment front door also squeaks and is hard to close. Then the apartment is pitch black, at least after the super bright lobby.
I think I tried four times last night, all ending with a whimper and the starts of screams and me cursing and looking for my shoes and heading back outside. Then my arms cramped up. And it started to rain, and his little eyes just kept fluttering open and shut, his little brain racing and racing.
Eventually, his mother took him for most of the night. And when I took him early in the morning, he was so focused and calm, fixated on a garlic press for a silent half hour.
As if he was learning something.