Since I made the decision to skip out on the gym this week, my mornings, which start at 7:15 instead of the usual 5:30, have been much more pleasant and relaxing, even if I am beginning to feel a growing softness in my belly.
I also have not felt any of the anxiety, self-induced as it may be, in the evenings, when I would rush off to bed in an effort to get as much sleep as possible before getting up the next morning just to go exert myself in a vain attempt to look like Chris Evans. Instead, I worked on posts for the blog, ate dinner late, practiced my a cappella doom-bah-dooms, all without the pall of a 10 PM bedtime, again self-imposed, looming over my head.
The sleep is still broken, however, as Sam and I are ever-subject to Grr's circadian rhythm. Since Sunday night/Monday morning's debacle, Sam decided to just let Grr sleep in the bed with us. Though I was not thrilled with the idea, I would have tried anything to not repeat that epic night of cage-rattling and cries.
Surprisingly (for me, at least), Grr behaved himself spectacularly. On the first night, as we prepared for bed, he ran onto the couch with this incredulous gleam in his eye: You're not going to send me to my crate? And I get to sleep upstairs? In bed?? With you guys??? Are all my dreams coming true at once? I fell asleep to the sounds of his chomping on his smelly chewtoy and the shifting weight of his head on my leg.
Still, the happiness of our little threesome (probably the closest I'll get to one) does not preclude Grr's biological need to wake up halfway through the night. So he does, typically around 3:00 or 4:00, and Sam, tireless in his patience with Grr (while I simultaneously learned why bad mothers sometimes drown their babies), would get up, say soft words to him, and carry him down the stairs and out to the garage. I would lay in bed, knowing I should have at least offered to be the one to take Grr out, but really, I think I've already effectively shown that I'm not that good of a person.
Being woken up once at 4:00 is a marked improvement over how things have been, even if it means Sam and I may never get the bed to ourselves again.
As this week went on, Grr got more and more comfortable with his new sleeping arrangement. And really, why wouldn't he? He got everything he wanted. Last night, he walked up the stairs himself without any provocation from us. He took his chewtoy, nestled into the same spot as all the previous nights (middle of the bed by our knees), and went to work chipping away at the compressed rawhide. Knowing he would not cry, coupled with his rhythmic nom-nom-noms, I quickly fell asleep. It was no later than 10:30.
I had various dreams throughout the night, some pleasant, some strange, most forgotten by now. When I stirred, the room was still dark; Grr was quiet, and Sam was softly snoring beside me. I figured that at any moment, Grr would roll over, jingling his collar tags like sleighbells, and Sam would wake up and take him downstairs to pee. Just as well, I thought, since I kind of had to myself.
I waited, tried to fall back asleep so I wouldn't have to focus on the mounting pressures building up within. Eventually, Grr stretched, yawned with an accompanying high-pitched whine he has taken to doing, and stood up. At last! I thought. We can now both get to our respective businesses.
I turned over and grabbed my phone. It was a few minutes to 7:00. He had slept through the night.
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