8:15, the new 11

8:15, that’s right, that’s the time I went to bed and fell asleep the other night. Within 30 seconds of my newborn son closing his eyes I had every light in the house off, the front door locked, the dogs out, my teeth brushed and I was hitting the pillow. Why 8:15 you ask? Because you know you’ll be up again in two hours and that makes 8:15 seem very appealing.

This new world I live in is still strange to me. Trivial things like “day and night” don’t seem to matter and are of little consequence. Last Thursday night my son slept for four hours without waking and I was so happy that I thought a yearly parade should be held in honor of the event. Even now at 4am I find myself checking work e-mails and blogging because it is when I have time.

I have a new appreciation for things like espresso shots in my large iced coffee and Red Bull as a cornerstone of a healthy personal diet. Having energy to run in the morning like I did pre-child seems to have all but vanished as I am lucky to get out twice a week.

If someone tries to have a conversation with me at work before I have had two cups of coffee, there is a good chance that I will retain almost none of what they say. This also holds true for most late afternoon meetings and all things having to do with reporting, analyzing, researching and documentation.

I find that my level of speech has been reduced to that of a three-year old or possibly a smart parrot. Verbs have become subjects, places have become actions, and I have mostly dropped nouns from my sentences altogether. Now I mostly communicate with a series of points, grunts and frowny faces. (thank god for pictures on menus at Tim Horton’s)

At five weeks there seems to be no end in sight to this madness. However the baby literature I read (of which I retain about 7%) seems to suggest that the boy will soon start to sleep more and for longer stretches. Also in the next few weeks he should begin to understand the concept of daytime and nighttime. I look forward to this as I am sure others look forward to me possibly becoming a more pleasant person once again.

Until then: “grunt, grunt, point, point, frowny face”.


Pat Lemieux

About Pat Lemieux

Pat has it all, family, big old house, dogs, a young son and a quarter-life crisis. He blogs about trying to be who he has always been and be who he now needs to be. He enjoys 90's grunge metal, tasty local brews and the outdoors.