To be fair, I didn’t have a nemesis before. But I certainly do now.

Monday of this week (the week after “falling back” an hour, due to daylight savings time), I put Jacob down for a nap at about 4:15. He chattered in his crib for a while and finally fell asleep at five o’clock. From what I know about his sleep cycles, I expected him to wake up at about 5:40 for dinner.

Six o’clock rolled around, and nothing, not a peep from him. Okay, I figured, this is going to be a longer nap—an hour and twenty minutes rather than forty minutes.

By quarter to seven, I still hadn’t heard anything from the little guy. I got hungry, and had dinner as quietly as possible. It was weird that he was still sleeping—and I was already starting to dread the five a.m. wake-up I saw on the other side of this thing—but there was no way I was going to wake up a peacefully sleeping baby. At eight o’clock, still nothing. At this point, I was reflecting on how lucky it was that I’d changed him into some comfier pants before his “nap” started. At least he wasn’t spending the whole night in jeans. How teenager-y of him that would have been! But he already eats like a thirteen-year-old, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.

Finally at nine o’clock, I heard him cry and went in to see him. John was working late, and neither Jacob nor I really knew what to do. Should he have dinner? Should I just put him back down?  I gave him some water, and rocked him for the duration of one rosary. I put him back down and after a short cry, he seemed to go back to sleep. At ten o’clock, he woke up again. This time I went in with a snack and water, and for the first time ever, really, he sat on my lap, cradled in my arms like you’d expect a baby to be, and we snuggled. It was peaceful and warm, and I would have stayed there longer if I wasn’t worried about the next morning.

Unfortunately, my concern was well-grounded. All week since, naps and nighttime sleep have been kind of wonky. Which means I’ve felt kind of wonky. I delayed this post until Friday, hoping to have some kind of conclusion about how long it takes a baby to adjust to DST. More than a week if the mama remains unwilling to consent to six a.m. wake-ups. I guess I need to revisit the letter I wrote Jacob last March. His memory isn’t all there yet, so I suppose I can’t blame him for forgetting.

But then again, this is life with a baby—just when you think you have a schedule established, something changes that keeps you from showering for longer than you’d like to admit. Thank goodness for husbands who stick around a little longer in the mornings to help make sense of the day. Let’s hope there’s a better resolution to this before spring!