Up until last night, my job was to take the 2 a.m. feeding shift for Baby Viper, while Mrs. Viper took the 5 a.m. shift. After talking to the doctor and learning that it would be OK to let him go four hours without eating overnight, we decided to switch shifts. She would take the 2 a.m. shift, and then I'd wake up at 6 a.m. to feed our son and then just stay awake, allowing me extra time to do stuff in the morning before work (e.g., go for a run, play my fiddle).
This was going to be great. I'd get up, Little Man would gulp down his bottle, I'd put him back to bed, and then I'd hit the streets (you know, since the parks are closed) for three or four miles. Fitness goals: back on track!
The kid was having none of it.
At a quarter 'til 5 a.m., he starts bawling. ZOMG! WHY ARE YOU STARVING ME? I grabbed his little body and shuffled downstairs to make his bottle, which he clearly thought it took too long for me to do, as he continued screeching bloody murder. He drained half his food in two seconds and then took FOREVER to finish the rest. My head bobbed to a groggy beat as I nodded off repeatedly.
By the time he finished his bottle, got a new diaper and was returned to his cradle, it was a quarter after 5. No way in hell I was just going to miss that much sleep. I got back in bed to wait for my alarm, and then hit snooze until 7 a.m., completely missing my window to run. But I did manage to fit in my morning routine of pull-ups, push-ups and planks. So, there's that.
If there's one thing we've learned about this whole having kids process it's that our plans will never work the way we expect them to ever again. Better luck next time, right?