1:27 a.m.: The baby's up. It's six minutes later than last night, but four minutes earlier than the night before. I'm not sure what time my husband gave Nate a bottle, since I passed out at 9:30 p.m., but I suspect it was around 10 p.m. Three and a half hours between night feedings for a 13-pound baby seems a bit short, but I'll take what I can get. I nurse him with one boob, change his diaper, nurse him with my other boob, and put him back in the swing.
I realize that I really need to begin transitioning him to sleep in a crib, but I'm too scared to try. I worry about that for a few more minutes.

2:03 a.m.: Should I read to stave off racing thoughts that could lead to insomnia? I decide to finish the chapter, but fall asleep after reading just one page.

2:38 a.m.: "Where's my Binky?" Toby's wailing wakes me up instantly. The new deal is that Mama is not going into Toby's room anymore until "the clock says 6." Only Dada is allowed to go in  -- hopefully being a disappointing enough presence to discourage these new twice-a-night wakings since baby Nate came home from the hospital two months ago. I remind my husband of this policy with a polite but firm shove. He grunts and goes into Toby's room. I listen to the negotiations in the other room and decide from the tones of voice that there is a 6 percent chance Toby will go back to sleep without insisting on seeing me. I am relieved when my husband returns to bed without a word and a beautiful silence is all that comes out of Toby's room.

4:12 a.m.: Nate's up again. Is it worth giving him a Binky to see if he'll go back to sleep without a feeding? I debate the pros and cons and decide to feed him anyway. I nudge my husband to warn him that the baby is almost done with the second boob. He grunts and gets up to put Nate back down. I drift into blissful sleep knowing my husband is officially responsible for this shift.

6:47 a.m.: Toby is awake and screaming for me. I help him take off his Pull-Ups, use the bathroom, and put on underwear. I snuggle back into bed with Toby but realize that Nate is now awake. Again. I take him out of the swing and bring him back into the bed.

8:21 a.m.: Breakfast. Toby wants four kinds of cereal mixed together. I silently curse myself for being the sort of person who has (literally) nine kinds of cereal on top of the fridge. I wish I weren't such an inspiration to my son in the cereal-obsession department.

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