To wake, or not to wake: that is the question:
Whether ’tis within my power to suffer
The slings and arrows of screaming baby,
Or to lie in bed against a sea of shrieking,
And by ignoring end it? To cry: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The screeching and the thousand baby farts
That sleeping is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To cry, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that hour and a half of sleep what dreams may come
When the baby hath shuffled off her swaddle blanket,
Must give us pause: there’s but one reason
That makes calamity of my sleep schedule;
For who would listen to the yelps and cries for milk,
The wubbanubs out, of her mouth again,
The pangs of spitting up, the parents delay,
The insolence of getting out of bed
That patience merits of the mom and dad,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a clean diaper? who would lie awake,
To grunt and sweat under a Gerber onesie,
But that the dread of something disturbing sleep,
The undiscover’d reason for which she
Randomly cries, puzzles the dad
And makes him rather stay in bed then replace
The wubbanub for the 37th time?
Thus crying baby does make cowards of us all;
And thus the will to get up repeatedly
Is pondered o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard the parents then decide,
And in the voice of Samuel L. Jackson!
The fair Carolyn! Please, in the name of Pete
Would you please go the fuck to sleep.
In the end, I decided to ignore the crying and see if she would cry herself out and fall asleep. She did. I win. Except that I probably scarred her or something and now she will have detachment issues or something since I denied her the wubbanub. But at least I can get some sleep.
