me = very very very tired

So. Time to chatter to my diary about how I'm doing.

AGH.

Baby is not sleeping.

Correction: baby is sleeping. Baby is sleeping quite a lot, in fact. However, baby is not sleeping when I need him to be sleeping, namely between 2am and 6am. Well, okay; more accurately, he's not allowing me to sleep during those hours. He gets plenty of sleep.

General stress kept me from unwinding until, oh, 2:30 this morning. At which point, like clockwork, the little angel woke up, hungry. Long story short, we were up, we were down, we were up again, we tried the bassinet (he was having none of that), we tried co-sleeping (he loved it, but I couldn't fall asleep -- I haven't co-slept with an infant enough to really relax, much as I otherwise enjoyed it), and hey, look, it was 6am, time to remedicate and start another day. For the record, "we" refers to me and my baby; my dear wife was fortunate enough, this time, to remain asleep for nearly all of the drama.

So. I am physically incapable of staying angry at this child. He is an angel boy. He is beyond sweet-tempered -- he's just in a near-permanent good mood. And no, that's not just his parent's perspective; all who encounter him remark (generally in tones of disbelief) at his unshakably happy disposition. I shouted at him deliriously a couple of times around 6am when he refused to stop squealing happily and thumping the walls of his bassinet, but then picked him up and laid him down next to me, and when next I opened my eyes there was his tiny cherubic face beaming awe and delight into mine, clearly transfixed with wonder at being in mama's bed. What was I supposed to do in the face of that? I melted. And so I laughed it all off as best I could, remedicated, and went about waking-up [the rest of] my family.