Jailhouse blues

The end result of "Nap Strike 2006" was a blissful night of sleep for everyone.

Jack was bathed, fed, swaddled and in his crib by 8:45 p.m. He slept until 1:45 a.m., when he took a bottle from Josh. He went back to sleep immediately, and slept until 5 a.m. The only reason he woke then was that he wet through his diaper. I changed and fed him and he went right back to sleep until 8:45 a.m.

That is 12 hours. Of sleep. In a row. Sweet lord, I am hoping for a repeat tonight.

He also took a three-hour nap in the middle of the day today, so no complaints here whatsoever.

I must confess, I was sad to see him in his crib.

Before I had Jack, I was all "He's staying in our room in the bassinette for a week. Then he's going in his own room."

Fast forward to a six-week-old Jack sleeping in his bassinette every night and between us from 6-9 a.m. every morning. Yes, we could be considered co-sleepers. I told the Sarcastic Journalist I was ashamed of my status.

So last night when Josh put him to bed, I sidled up to him on the couch and asked if maybe, possibly, we should keep Jack in our room? You know, in case he gets scared?

He laughed at me and made me admit it was me who would be scared. I just hated the thought of the little guy being so far away where I could not see him or hear him breathing or look at him to make sure he was not buried in the covers of our bed.

I had a picture of him in my head, with his hands gripping the crib slats like a jailbird looking out at me all forlorn with his harmonica. (Yes, he's playing a harmonica in my made-up world. Shut up.)

The image was quickly replaced by that of my face on a pillow, sleeping uninterrupted with room to stretch out. And I got over my separation anxiety. Of course, not before I peeked in on him a few times. You know, to make sure the harmonica wasn't keeping the neighbors awake.