Twas the night before the night before Christmas and in a new house...

At 10 pm all was silent, except for Espen Mouse. He, for the nebenefit of all beings everywhere, was howling up a storm.  This was no passing squall. No. This was Hurricane Wesp.  For the next three hours he wept, he moaned, he screamed, he screeched.  The Bear would not be pacified by rocking nor milk.  He was not to be distracted by calm pacing or quiet songs. Only gale force emotional winds would do.  When he finally collapsed against Tobias around 1am, it was due to sheer exhaustion instead of a peaceful surrender to sleep.

How did all this transpire? Well.  The holidays bring out the best and worst in all of us.  

This year, we decided to switch up the old standard of Christmas at the Farm and head to The Dalles to spend Yule with Jackie and Sean and Mom and Dad.  Sunshine and rivers instead of rain and forests seemed like a move in the enlightened direction.

Wesp thought so too, until it was time for bed.  This baby loves new things.  He loves new people.  He will stay up all night so he doesn't miss anything.  We learned this on a whole new level last night.  

Now he knows all the folks here, so it wasn't the quality of exposure to new people that sent him into mental meltdown, rather, I suspect, it was the quantity.  

He is used to spending the bulk of his days with me or Tobias and having limited stints of exciting interactions with the world.  His routine is very established.  

And suddenly, out of nowhere, BAMO! Aunties! Uncles! Grandparents! Dogs! Packages everywhere! Sparkly things hanging from the sky!  WHOA.  

So I get how it might be difficult to stay asleep.  Now.  I get it now, after a sleepless night reminiscent of his newborn days.  I'll admit, I may have gotten somewhat cocky about my baby's flexibility.  It's easy enough to do when you have a predictable schedule in place and then decide to change up something minor like, say, pushing nap time back a half hour. 

Ok. I may have gotten somewhat cocky about MY flexibility.  

Things that I wouldn't have thought about before became flashing beacons of warning.  Televisions for example. We don't have one. Apparently I've become hypersensitive to the noise levels on Espen's behalf and can only hear the screaming children, the raccous laughter, and the backfire of cars in Christmas classics like A Christmas Story.  Even Christmas music. No Manheim Steamroller thank you.  Perhaps some Silver Bells, but only very quietly please.  

I may have contracted some Holiday Neurosis.  But this is not about me. This is about the fact that my baby cried for three hours straight last night and I'm keen to find a reason WHY. WHY OH WHY. 

We may never know, but in the end, we all fell into a grateful sleep, which, though not nearly long enough in the grand illusion of Relaxing Holidays, was still sleep. 

Now my dearest Christmas wish can be summed up in an old yule hymn.  

Silent Night

Holy Night 

All is calm

All is bright. 

Yes please.  If not, well, at least I have an adorable baby, sleep deprived or not.