Then Crappy Baby came along and my not-sleeping habits changed again. Here’s what a typical night was like for a while.
We’d climb in bed at 9:00 p.m….
By 9:03 Crappy Papa was completely asleep.
I’d be nursing Crappy Baby and hadn’t even begun to think about sleeping yet. I’d lie there motionless, pretending to be calm and relaxed so he’d fall asleep.
I pretended to be sleeping but really I was going over the “to do” list or replaying conversations from earlier. Or I’d have pretend conversations that might happen in the future. On a good night he settled pretty fast.
Finally, around 10:00 p.m. he was asleep. Success! He rolled over and my body was my own for the first time all day. I pulled up the blankets a little. I closed my eyes for real. Started to relax and let go…
Until I heard a noise.
Becoming a mama gave me heightened spidey senses. A tiny noise a mile away woke me up like a mama bear, ready to protect her young.
My husband did not develop this quality with parenthood.
Crappy Boy entered. I thought he was asleep. He had no concept of being quiet while people are sleeping, so he barged in loudly asking for random shit. I had to jump out of bed and rush him out of the room so he didn’t wake the baby. This attempt was successful about 50 percent of the time. Let’s assume it was successful this night.
So I was in the hallway, hearing Crappy Boy’s demands and bargaining with him. Water, bathroom, covers on or off, etc. I had no real power here—I’d agree to anything to get him back in bed quietly. When he exhausted all the standard stuff, he finished by needing to tell me something very important, like “I saw a rock today on the ground and it had dirt on it and I forgot to tell you!” and I steered him back to his room.
By the time I headed back to my bed, the baby had turned into a starfish. Legs and arms stretched out, taking up my whole side of the bed.
I slid next to and under him, being careful not to wake him. I couldn’t move. I was scared to breathe. This was a very delicate situation. I had to move him. I had to risk it.
The first attempt to move him just made it worse. He swung both arms and legs on top of me. He was stirring so I couldn’t move a muscle. I was like a statue while I listened to his breathing to hear when he was in a deep enough sleep to move him.
Finally, by midnight I had successfully moved him. I hadn’t heard from Crappy Boy in a while so he must be asleep, too. I fell asleep for the first time!
Until I was awakened by a foot in my eye. I tried to ignore it. A foot in the eye was a sign that he was starting to move into a lighter sleep. This meant he’d wake up completely to nurse soon.
We nursed again. I was half asleep but mostly just felt like a zombie. My mind wandered to weird stuff. I closed my eyes and saw flashes of people and places like a dream, except I was awake.
Finally, he settled again and rolled away. It was 2:30 a.m. and I could finally get some real sleep! It was very unlikely that either kid was going to wake me up again. Sweet sleeping bliss.
Until the two cats came in at 5:00 a.m. and announced that they were hungry. They continued to make this announcement every fifteen minutes or so. I ignored them. But they knew. I was their target. They knew I was awake no matter how hard I pretended not to be. They finally settled on my feet so that they would be alerted the moment I stirred. I got a few more minutes of sleep.
Only to be woken up at 7:00 a.m. for a new day. Crappy Boy skipped into our room and gleefully sang, “Morning! It’s morning time!” Which woke up Crappy Baby, who replied with “Mownin!”
Then they jumped on our bed.
Even this didn’t wake up Crappy Papa. He was still sound asleep.
“Go see Papa,” I grumbled.
They had to poke his head and repeat “Papa!” over and over again until he finally woke up.
And what was the first thing out of his mouth?
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
THE BEDTIME ROUTINE AND THINGS I DO WHEN I SHOULD BE SLEEPING
Both Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby pretty much sleep through the night now (Yes, this actually can happen! It isn’t a myth!), and I have a new, incredible sense of freedom at night.
I’m still tired all the damn time, though. But it’s all my fault. Here’s why…
Every parent loathes the bedtime routine. Actually, there are probably some parents who love the bedtime routine, but I’ve never met any and they are probably weird.
Why do I hate it so? Because our goals are not compatible. My goal is to get them into bed. Their goal is to avoid getting into bed.
Nightly rituals are employed to let the children know that sleeptime looms. Our ritual has evolved into a complicated and arduous process with many steps. Any mistake in the order or execution of these steps will upset the balance of the universe. And nobody likes that.
Let’s assume that even though I’m barely keeping my eyes open, I successfully perform the choreographed dance of teeth brushing, mouth washing, changing into pajamas, peeing, book selecting, book reading, storytelling, back rubbing, question answering, water fetching, forehead kissing, goodnight saying and door shutting. All is quiet. I, too, can sleep.
But this is the first me time I’ve had all day! I suddenly have a burst of energy! I’m alone and free!
I’ll just check my email quickly before I head to bed: