Of the many tactics employed by the Soviet Police Force during the Stalin Era, sleep deprivation was one of the most torturous for those under arrest. As Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin described it: “In the head of the interrogated prisoner, a haze begins to form. His spirit is wearied to death, his legs are unsteady, and he has one sole desire: to sleep… Anyone who has experienced this desire knows that not even hunger and thirst are comparable with it.”

He ain’t kidding.

Here’s the thing about having a baby: God hands you this spectacular little miracle that can make you burn with a love that can melt your bones, and at the same time, you get thrust into a whirlwind where hormones can send you flying and crashing in a matter of seconds, you turn into what I like to call the “Lie-Thru Dairy Queen” and sleep becomes a more a commercial break than an your regularly scheduled program. And that’s if you’re lucky. All this is hardly a revelation, but when you’re spoiled with consistent sleep, a non-leaky chest and a (mostly) even temperament for a while, getting thrown into the trenches without much warning can be as potent a jump to the system as electroshock therapy.

Can you tell I’m tired? Not that I’m complaining, of course. Despite my brain-draining exhaustion, I am thrilled with our new little guy. He’s beautiful and strong (picking up his head already!), nurses, poops and pees like a champ (if there was a contest in that sort of thing) and is very nice to his big brother. He is definitely a mama’s boy, constantly wanting to be held, and like his mother, is always ready to feast on something yummy (though colostrum is not really my speed so much anymore). He’s kind of like this cute little frat boy who sleeps all day and parties all night, only without the body odor and penchant for cheap beer.

That said, there are also some mixed feelings going on about the shift from one to two. As glad as I am to have LB with us, I miss my one-on-one time with Yonah, and I worry that he’s going to feel neglected. We’ve been lucky this week to have the help of a post-partum doula named Taylor, who along with doing laundry and offering me moral support, has become Yonah’s personal plaything. But I know it’s an adjustment for us both that I can’t give him 100% of my attention all the time. He got a little frustrated when he couldn’t get juice out of his cup and had a major meltdown. So not his style. So, I pulled him into my lap and rocked him until he stopped crying. Later in the evening, after Baby went to sleep, I rocked Yonah in the rocking chair for a long time. Truth is, I need one-on-one time with him as much as he does with me.