The jig is up, baby. You managed to fool me for a couple of weeks but did you really think you could carry on this charade forever? Sure, you are tiny and adorable but you had to know that wouldn’t be enough forever. You had to know I would eventually see past your adorableness.
Number Four-Don't let that angel face fool you. He is a finely trained torture specialist, specializing in sleep deprivation methods.
I started piecing it together a couple of nights ago. Up until then, you were sleeping 2.5-3 hours in a stretch at night. I could live with that. I even began considering giving you the official title of “my easiest baby”. Well, that all changed a few nights ago. Your cover is blown. Now you are sleeping in one hour intervals, if I am lucky. The first night, I chalked it up to just a fluke–a bad night. Last night–night three–I came to terms with the truth that the hospital had OBVIOUSLY given me the wrong baby. See, I love sleep. I don’t just mean that I love sleep, as in I enjoy sleeping. I mean, if sleep was something tangible, I would take it out to a nice dinner, buy it gifts, marry it and have sex with it 3-5 times a day for hours and hours on end. So, I just know that if the hospital had given me the right baby, he would love sleep as much as I do. I mean, that is just basic genetics. I read somewhere that the sleep gene comes from the mother but don’t go look for that study because it was a super secret study and you have to know important people to get to see it. They could kill me just for mentioning it.
Impostor Number Four keeps me up all. night. long. He nurses and nurses and then he pretends to be asleep. I lay him down and he waits until I lay down and get comfortable and then the moment after I close my eyes, he starts crying. Sometimes, he even lets me get to sleep. He will let me sleep for 30 minutes, sometimes up to an hour and then he starts wailing. I feel and look like a zombie. Then, just to add insult to injury, he sleeps for hours at a time during the day, knowing all I can do is watch. His cruelty knows no bounds. If he could laugh at me, he would and one day, he will. 
I know what you are thinking. Why don’t you report this to the authorities. I should, I know. I obviously have Stockholm Syndrome. Whoever put him up to this trained him well.
