New parenthood = a lot panicking, in my view.
I sleep lightly, randomly waking up long enough to panic that one of us has forgotten to put the baby down before dozing off. In my half-awake state, I begin furiously pawing at any lumps in the blankets of our bed, at any forgotten burp cloths or swaddle blankets, etc., thinking each one is the baby. This continues until B snaps me out of it by reminding me that the baby is sleeping soundly in his bed next to ours. B and I also trade off so that on nights when I’m not the one doing this, he’s the one having night terrors about dozing off with the child in our bed.
Last night the kid gave us five solid, uninterrupted hours of sleep. Did I wake up feeling rested, refreshed, and happy? Not before taking a detour to Panicville first, since something *must* have been wrong in order for him to not have woken us up at his usual 2-3 hour intervals. As it turns out, perhaps he was just being nice to his mother after the events of the night prior. (see Exhibit C)
This child makes a lot of noise in his sleep. He squeaks, he coos, he grunts, he farts, and he screeches. The screeches are loud and ear-piercing enough that if pterodactyls were still in existence today they might descend in droves upon us after hearing the kid’s call. The night before last, after keeping me up until 2AM pacing the house, the baby finally decided to sleep for a little bit but only on the condition that he make a lot of noise while he did so. I woke up a short time later, panicking because his nocturnal screeches had crept into my brain as the creepy soundtrack for a crazy and vivid “Run for your life, aliens are invading Earth and snatching all the bodies” dream. So not only do I panic about the kid now, but I apparently also panic about the human race because of the kid.