doing strange things

Abe and I have found ourselves engaged in strange behaviors since Genghis came into the world.

I composed this blog post entirely in my head at 3:30 am while nursing. At the time, I thought it was good practice in the event that I am ever kidnapped. While nursing earlier the day before, I listened to a "This American Life" episode about hostages, during which a kidnapping survival expert offered the following advice to victims:

1) bring along or ask for a book so you have something to stave off boredom - if in Central or South America, request a Bible because they'll sympathize with your religious fervor
2) don't try to bargain for yourself because it only increases expectations for the eventual payout later on
3) find ways to exercise your mind and body rather than falling into a lethargic daytime routine

Memorizing this blog post while nursing was practice in #3. Although, now that I think about it, all three tips seem applicable to surviving nursing a baby. I've kept Jeff Shaara's Gods & Generals propped up on the zebra next to the rocking chair (on page 300-something). Genghis is thus far unresponsive to my incentive structures for him to stay awake through his feeding or sleeping longer in between. And lethargic doesn't begin to describe how I spend my waking moments.

But Genghis holds Abe and I hostage not just in body but also in mind.

Three scenarios from the past 2 weeks.

First, Genghis wakes in the middle of the night. He is performing his "freak out" cry, as we have called it, in the other room. Abe sits bolt upright in bed, eyes closed, completely asleep, and loudly goes "Shhhhhuuuuuushhhh!" I gently pat Abe's arm and tell him that Mom is already tending to Genghis and that his well-meaning shush-ing probably isn't doing much good anyway.

Second, I wake up in the early morning hours groping my pillow, convinced that I can feel Genghis's chubby legs in there. He is trapped, and I have been sleeping on him for the last 2 hours. I scare myself into consciousness and do the only reasonable thing, which is to stick my arm down my pillow case and feel around in all the corners just to make sure there isn't really a baby hidden inside.

Third, Genghis starts crying again in the middle of the night. Abe and I both start to stir. Abe slides one hand under my neck and lays the other across my stomach and starts rocking me gently back and forth. I'm pretty sure he is also shush-ing. I turn to him and say, "I'm not the baby", to which he responds, "Oh, well, where's the baby?" I tell him to go back to sleep and I go console Genghis in the other room.

After reflecting on these events, I'm not sure if cosleeping would be a better or worse option for our family life.