At 4:30 AM on Wednesday morning, Jake and I couldn't have been more different. He was standing up in his crib, ready to rock, cheerfully babbling away as he pointed at his star night light that hangs in his window. I was slumped dejectedly over his crib, my cheek resting on the rail while I fantasized that I was asleep in my bed. I kept laying him down in the vain hope that he would just pass right out (these are the kinds of impossible fantasies that come to you in the middle of the night when you're half asleep), but I was no match for the spring under his butt that kept popping him right back up for more enthusiastic pointing and babbling.
The reason I bring this up is I thought of you guys. Not right then, but about an hour later, when I was laying on the couch (to be further from his room and the crying emanating from within) with a pillow over my head, trying to wait him out and see if he'd fall back to sleep on his own. He eventually did, by about 5:30. But until he did, I was seized by a strange compulsion to wake up everyone I know. I felt that if I had to be awake in the middle of the night, so did you.
So I need your phone numbers. It's not like Jake does this all the time or anything, I don't expect this to become a habit. But just in case it does happen again, I need to be able to call each and every one of you (collect, of course) and wake you up. You need to be there for me at such times. That's what friends are for. I'll put the phone in Jake's crib and you can listen to him cry. Or maybe I'll put the phone by my pillow and you can listen to me cry, as I vow not to have more children. Either way, just knowing you're there for me will be a big help.