Our family doc called on Thursday to see how I was doing with my new happy meds. When I told her I’d slept ten hours in the past three nights, she was appalled. These drugs were, among other things, supposed to help me sleep.

I assured her it wasn’t the little blue pills that were keeping me awake. It was the babies. They’d been up and up and up like newborns all week, wanting to eat every couple hours.

“Stop feeding them!” she said. “They’re almost six months old. They can get through the night without food.”

So we stopped feeding them. Thursday night they cried for three and a half hours. Finally, at five a.m., I gave in and fed them, just to get them to shut up. After all that noise for so long, the silence was deafening.

Friday night was much, much better. They were only up a couple times each for about 20 minutes or so. Hooray for sleep training! This was going to be easier than we thought. We began to dream of actually sleeping at night, all night. Oh bliss.

Or not. Saturday night, Luke cried for an hour.

Sunday night, he cried for an hour and a half. I think he’s defective. This is not the first time I’ve thought that. I can’t decide if I want to send him back for a better model or just cut my losses and put him out on the curb with a free sign around his neck. (Doug informs me that this is illegal and that I would go to jail. Jail? Hm. Would I have my own room?)

Ben, on the other hand, is a dream baby. The past two nights, when he’s woken up, he’s whimpered, maybe wailed once or twice, and then gone back to sleep. This morning I told him, out loud, in front of his brother, that he had achieved favored baby status.

Neither he nor Luke seemed to care. They were too busy sucking on their hands.

Now, if only they would suck on their hands when they wake up at night, we’d all be a lot happier.