Solo

You are asleep in the next room. It's 8 pm, and you started to get very sleepy around 6, after a sink bath wherein I learned that you love having a bath before bed, but your legs are too long for the sink bath insert anymore, and so your chubby feet were sticking up awkwardly at one end while you looked wide-eyed out the window at the Chrysler building. At 6:15 you were up again, wanting just one more ounce of milk. Then down. Then another ounce at 7. And now down, maybe for the count.

Your father is at a conference in Las Vegas. He had suggested us going with him, and I did consider it, but I wasn't sure how ready I would be to travel with you at three months of age, and now that we are just about established with your sleep routine I'm just as glad we didn't risk it. Also, they still let people smoke in casinos, and there is nowhere to go but casinos. My irrational SIDS fear would have burst back to life with a fierce vengeance. Where's the fun in that?

The challenge is, with both your dad and soon your grandmother out of town, how to let out the dog for his walk before bedtime. I had somehow failed to take this into account until today. With any luck, tonight the neighbor teenager is going to come downstairs and sit on our couch for ten minutes while I take him out to pee. I hope that you just stay asleep. Please, just stay asleep. Ten minutes. Out, pee, back up. Then I will fall asleep next to you, and try very hard not to be overly responsive to your goblin noises when you are dreaming.

Tomorrow we will spend the day puttering at home, which I imagine will involve nursing and napping and floor time and bed, and maybe the teenager will come back, or maybe a friend of a friend who has offered to stop by will stop by. Tuesday we have a play date at the Met with another babyfriend, and in theory a friend is coming over at night to watch you while I let out the dog. This is a very noisy and talkative friend, however, so I'm beginning to have second thoughts. I don't know. We shall see. So far, our time alone just the two of us feels good.

I tiptoe in to pump and watch you sleeping. You are a couple of inches away from outgrowing your bassinet. Your dad is in denial, I think, about how soon you will need a crib. I think it's soon. A month. Call it a month.

My tiny baby growing bigger, who looked at me the other day and gave me a gummy smile with your fists drawn up under you chin in delight, a movement that I did, and still do today. My son. My little baby soon.

Tuesday, it's 13 weeks.