Thorsten's away, in Chicago on business until Thursday, which means, of course, that I'm alone with the girls except for Lilia's mornings in daycare. I have to admit to being rather apprehensive about the whole thing, especially the nights, since neither Lilia nor Johanna has been sleeping particularly well lately. The whole thing feels like a hit-or-miss juggling act ("OK, Johanna's crying, I'll carry her around with one arm and try to get Lilia's pajama shirt on with the other one, but she's cutting up paper into scraps with her new child-safety scissors, which we will have to pick up at some point, which I can't do till I can put Johanna down, and she dropped her pacifier on the floor again and it's covered with dust bunnies, which I can't rinse off right now, and how am I going to get Lilia in bed anyway with Johanna fussing?")
But actually last night went OK. Johanna fussed all evening but took a strategic 45 minute nap at around 7:30 so I could get Lilia into bed. Then I watched Tatort while I paced and rocked with Johanna in the living room . . . at about 10:30 I took her to bed with me and we were both really tired and fell asleep. Then at some point during the night Lilia showed up, I suppose at around 3 a.m., and crawled in on the other side of me. They slept pretty well, but I had the feeling of being the filling in a Mama sandwich . . . . both of them seeking body contact and moving in on me like those rolling library shelves, in which I was once trapped as a college student. OK, my similes are getting scrambled, but you get the picture. At 6:30 Lilia woke up and announced she was done sleeping, and after another 15 bleary-eyed minutes I managed to get up too, to find her in the living room cutting paper into scraps with her new child-safety scissors.
One night down, two to go.
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