Sometimes at night, when the baby finally sleeps,
I don't.
One night at 2:23 AM, the chirping of a smoke alarm - its battery dying.
Another night at 3:13 , Maya crying, "I don't want Jamesy sleeping in the bottom bunk with me!" while Jamesy cried for being woken up by her crying at him. They were both so exhausted they had both fallen asleep while I read to them. I had slipped out amidst their snoozing before the usual sending of James up the ladder into his bunk.
At 4:07 one night, it was the restless clack-clack-clack of Scout the Dog, which got me picturing a foul surprise (again) in some forsaken corner. So I sprang out of bed, and rustled some pants from the pile on the chair in the corner in the dark. And I raced her downstairs and outside, and shivered against the middle-night cold, as she darted behind the azalea bush.
Another night it was the clock radio in James and Maya's room, somehow set and beeping at 3:15 AM.
One night, God knows what time it was after midnight, after I lost count of how many deep knee bends, and swaying, and singing, and humming head-to-head with the baby fighting me, fighting the paci, fighting sleep, until finally, he slept, and not only slept, but as I eased him slowly back into his Moses basket, miracle of miracles, he stayed asleep through the transfer.
But back in bed, my heart still raced. And it jumped again with each of his little stirrings, wanting and knowing I needed to sleep, but failing to find the switch.
At some point a body remembers how to drop off just like that after the midnight interludes of wakefulness...doesn't it?
I don't.
One night at 2:23 AM, the chirping of a smoke alarm - its battery dying.
Another night at 3:13 , Maya crying, "I don't want Jamesy sleeping in the bottom bunk with me!" while Jamesy cried for being woken up by her crying at him. They were both so exhausted they had both fallen asleep while I read to them. I had slipped out amidst their snoozing before the usual sending of James up the ladder into his bunk.
At 4:07 one night, it was the restless clack-clack-clack of Scout the Dog, which got me picturing a foul surprise (again) in some forsaken corner. So I sprang out of bed, and rustled some pants from the pile on the chair in the corner in the dark. And I raced her downstairs and outside, and shivered against the middle-night cold, as she darted behind the azalea bush.
Another night it was the clock radio in James and Maya's room, somehow set and beeping at 3:15 AM.
One night, God knows what time it was after midnight, after I lost count of how many deep knee bends, and swaying, and singing, and humming head-to-head with the baby fighting me, fighting the paci, fighting sleep, until finally, he slept, and not only slept, but as I eased him slowly back into his Moses basket, miracle of miracles, he stayed asleep through the transfer.
But back in bed, my heart still raced. And it jumped again with each of his little stirrings, wanting and knowing I needed to sleep, but failing to find the switch.
At some point a body remembers how to drop off just like that after the midnight interludes of wakefulness...doesn't it?
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