Sooo tired. Minor is sleeping a normal amount, but at abnormal times. Often, he’s awake for an hour or two in the middle of the night. He doesn’t cry, just insists on being entertained. We haven’t been able to establish a good routine for getting him to sleep. Just when we think we have something down, the next night it ceases to work. Sometimes he likes the pacifier, but other times he wants the bottle, even if he’s full. Sometimes he needs to be walked around in the Bjorn. But the next night, the Bjorn won’t do; he has to be held. Occasionally, a car ride works. More often than not, it’s the stroller that lulls him to sleep. Between the hours of 4 and 6, you can often find us trying one of these gambits.

There is a woman in my town who has a daughter Aitch’s age. Every afternoon between 12 and 2 you can spot her walking around town with her daughter in a jogging stroller. One day, I greeted her, and she responded in a whisper, explaining that her daughter would only nap in the stroller, and that she has to stroll her around for two hours daily if she wants her to take a nap.

I smiled and nodded, of course, but in my heart I was committing a little mommy drive-by: “She should teach that kid to nap in her bed!” I thought she was being overly indulgent. Now I’m the one strolling my kid around the block at 4 a.m. I definitely want to teach Minor to sleep in his bed, but I feel like I need to get to know his sleep patterns better first, so I can do it without a lot of trauma. I’m not averse to “cry it out,” but he’s still too young and too new yet. So in the meantime, there is sleep deprivation. There’s a reason they use it as a torture technique.

Basically, I feel pretty wide-awake most of the time, but the past month has felt like one long, uninterrupted day. I feel disconnected to time; hours pass more slowly than usual, but milestones sneak up on me. I’m not as organized or sharp as usual.

For example, last Friday I suddenly realized that I was supposed to be in Philadelphia on Monday, a trip I’ve known about since my abstract for the meeting was accepted at least 6 months ago. Here is a partial list of things I forgot:

  • My contact lens case
  • My iPod
  • My phone charger
  • Pajamas
  • A hotel reservation

One of these things is crucial to a business trip; can you guess which one?

So all weekend I tried to get a hotel room, but Philly was full, thanks to the convention, and there was nothing to be had that wasn’t in Northeast Philly (where, believe it or not, I’ve never been, and why start now?) or upwards of $400. Since I was paying for it myself, this wasn’t an option. So I made a backup plan to stay with a friend who lives 50 miles away and resigned myself to spending my one child-free night waking up at 4:30 to leave by 5:30 to beat the traffic to get there by 8:00 to speak at 8:30. I was pretty grumpy about it.

During the flight I suddenly realized that the meeting organizers had never reimbursed me for a hotel room for a previous meeting, for which I had been on the committee. So when I checked in I kind of casually mentioned it, adding, “I don’t suppose you could help me find a place to stay tonight, could you?”

They directed me to their housing desk. The woman ran through all the local hotels, getting the same results I had gotten. I just kept standing in front of her with a bright smile on my face. Finally, she said, “There’s one last thing I can check.” One of the staff had canceled at the last minute, and her reservation–at a nice, nearby hotel–was available at the meeting rate. It took a few minutes to make the reservation desk understand that I wanted to convert one night of her reservation for my own use, but shortly I was checking into a lovely hotel on the water.

I did find a toenail in one of the beds, which was absolutely disgusting, but I was too tired to care. I slept eight hours in the other bed. Eight consecutive hours. Best business trip ever.