Bringing Soren home was a nice little excuse to do something I have always wanted to do: turn the thermostat up and leave it there. Mmm, so nice. I mean, it’s not toasty in here by any stretch of the imagination, but my nose isn’t cherry red and running all the time, either. I still drink tea and wear wool socks and a fleece robe, for goodness sake.
Newborns cannot regulate their nervous systems, or at least are highly inefficient at it. Their breathing is disturbingly choppy (which is the primary reason one does not sleep in the first days home from the hospital; every choky, delayed breath instigates cardiac problems in their instantly alert mamas), and their tiny fingers and toes turn blue with the slightest provocation. This is why skin-to-skin contact is as beneficial as it is: it is one way (the best way!) that babies’ heart rates, breathing, and temperatures regulate. We were too terrified to co-sleep with Soren at first, as he seemed very fragile and easily crushed, not to mention incapable of voicing his concerns should one of us roll over onto him. Good grief, he probably wouldn’t really have minded the not breathing part- it was such work after 9 (AND A HALF) months of easy street living. So, into his bassinet he went, and up the thermostat went. It was delightful, let me tell you. It’s STILL delightful! But it’s time. It’s time to put it back to a reasonable level (60 at night, not above 68 during the day) and deal with the wishing endlessly that it were free to keep it at 78 or so. Oh, man, that would be incredible.
note: I have never in my life set the thermostat to 78, it’s just a fantasy of mine. 72 is as high as I’ve ever gone, and that only for a little while.