This was our night:
7:00 pm - Ryan puts Chicken to bed. Buster wakes up. Commence bouncing/shushing/nursing/rocking.
8:00 pm - Buster falls asleep.
8:05 pm - Buster wakes up as soon as we try to swaddle him and put him down. Commence bouncing/shushing/nursing/rocking.
9:30 pm - Buster falls asleep. Successful transfer to rock'n'play. Pop a cold one and turn on the HBO Go! We're FREEEEEEEE!
9:45 pm - Buster wakes up. Commence operation YOU WILL TAKE THIS BINKY SO HELP ME GOD. Total operational failure. Commence bouncing/shushing/nursing/rocking.
10:30 pm - Buster falls asleep. Successful transfer to rock'n'play. Pop in your retainers and turn on the white noise. We have to go to sleep RIGHT the fuck NOW.
12:00 am - Buster wakes up.
12:30 am - Buster falls asleep.
1:30 am - Buster wakes up.
2:15 am - Buster falls asleep.
3:00 am - Buster wakes up.
3:15 am - Buster falls asleep.
4:15 am - Buster wakes up.
4:45 am - Buster falls asleep.
6:00 am - Buster wakes up.
Somewhere in there I made a choice.
No, I don't believe I am going to make a memory out of this night, a-thankyouverymuchsir.
Nope, I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna not remember really any of this. At all.
This night? It's gone. Not only will I never have to relive it (as discussed here) but as far as my memory is concerned, it never even happened.
How do I know?
Because weirdly, nights like these are in my muscle memory. Baby cries, I roll over, haul my body out of bed, stagger to his bassinet, sink into the chair, and slump over the Boppy as he slurps away at his first of as-many-as-he-wants midnight snacks. I don't choose to do any of these things. I don't have to think about it.
It's all in my bones. But it's not in my brain.
I don't remember any single night of doing this with Chicken. There were more than 365 of them, and I don't remember ONE. That's God's best gift to mothers of infants: the blissful amnesia of a career hockey player/Dory the fish.
So Buster, do your worst. I'm Eternal Sunshine-ing you.
Last night? What about it? Did something happen?