Sleep. Well. Lack there of.

Jack has just learned how to crawl and he's beginning to fine tune his skills. The only problem is that he wants to fine tune those skills at 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am and 5am. In his sleep.

We co-sleep. I'm not changing my mind about that one. Even if putting him in the crib would keep him from crawling on my head in the middle of the night, I would still be awakened by his frustrated cries. And then I'd have to get up and out of the bed to help him. That is not an option. (You don't want to hear me rant about my distaste for Dr. Ferber, either.)

I know that this too shall pass. It always does. The same thing happened when he learned to roll over and when he learned to get up on all fours. He practiced it in his sleep for about two weeks, then he got over it. I hope the next week and a half flies by with minimal grumpiness and caffeinated jitters.

Despite not sleeping, I'm proud of my little boy. It's bittersweet. Everyday, he's one step further from being my little baby. I'm trying to enjoy his baby-ness. Even the really hard stuff. Because in fifteen years, I'll be able to sleep through the night, but I seriously doubt my teenaged son will give me a big toothless grin whenever I walk into the room. And he certainly won't let me call him Wiggle Pants in public anymore.

I hear crawling leads to walking. I'm coming to terms with the fact that crawling and walking means he can get himself to the electric outlets and the good crystal. I'm just loving these baby days while I still got 'em.

I hope I'm able to maintain a good attitude about all of the stages of my son's life.