The Sandman Cometh, The Sandman Runneth Away.
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oh Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. Like the smell of fresh violets. A glass of sparkling water when you’re so, so thirsty. A hot shower when you’re cold…Glorious, restorative, sleep.
At 3:45am I hear the annoyed cries of my daughter, requesting her usual gut-bomb and a fresh diaper. Luckily my body knows this routine, so it isn’t as painful as it used to be. I get up, feed her, then its back to A bed. I say “a” bed because I’m a nomad of ZZ’s. I don’t have my own bed anymore. Right now my giant toddler requires the full-sized guest bed. He also requires that I sleep with him in that bed, or I will be awoken even more than I am now. My husband snores. FACT. When you’re getting so little rest, you will take what you can get. I take quiet feet in the ribcage over loud snoring in the ears. So I slip into my son’s bed, on the very edge, as he has claimed the entire middle. I pull my corner of blanket, whatever I can score. He searches for me with his feet, to confirm I’m there. Little toes jab themselves into my ribs and seem to say, “you stay.”
I can hear my daughter cooing in her room. Full belly, perfectly warm, just letting me know she is still awake, letting me know I’m not to fall asleep just yet, she may need a little extra something while she sings herself back to dream-land (sleep training is a miracle. Wish I did it better with my son). The vibrating sounds of my husband coming from the other room, the cooing of my daughter and the gentle breathing of my son are magical sounds. But only for all of a minute. My mind is buzzing with things I need to do, it betrays me. It will not slow down.
As my daughter quiets, I start to feel that wonderful weight on my eyes. The Sandman, recharged from the deserts abroad has come to give me sweet relief. It is now 5:30am. I will have approximately 2 hours of potential sleep. Yes please.
5:35am, my husband gets up to use the bathroom. He is a giant man, our floors are old and creaky. He couldn’t be a ninja if our very lives depended on it. The cooing from the other room restarts. My mind, again, betrays, re-runs through the list of musts.
It is now 6:15am. The Sandman returns, he is MOST welcome. But he is vigorously chased away by the child’s finger that finds its way up my nostril.
“That’s MOMMY’S nose!” says my son, he’s up, practically caffeinated. Followed by the shrill cry from a freshly awoken baby who has undoubtedly taken her morning crap. Goodbye Sandman…
It BEGINS.
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