Sleep is one of my favorite things in the world.
Some people like money, I like sleep. Some people want money, I want sleep. Some people desperately yearn for money, I... think you get my point.
I have memories from childhood of favorite places I liked to sleep. The top bunk where I'd stare at the ceiling until I dozed, camping in a canvas tent on a cot snuggled inside a sleeping bag, and in the backyard in the grass, listening to the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects.
As a teen and young adult, sleeping became an art I perfected. I was good at it. Long stretches, 12-18 hrs at a time, and at any & all hours of the day & night you could find me practicing. I could sleep in any position, anywhere, anytime, any place and through any noise. I would joke that there could be a jackhammer outside my open window and I could sleep right through it. I did some modeling for an art class in college once where I used to fall asleep standing up while holding a pose for the students to paint. The professor would have to wake me when class was over.
Ahhh, those were the days. Sleep rained down on me like pennies from heaven. No, more like bars of gold. Now, I would settle for pennies.
It wasn't until I became pregnant with Ryan that I started having sleep trouble. It was not as bad as what most women experience during pregnancy, or so I've read and been told. I did my research and was prepared to lose a few Zs. For the most part, my pregnancy with Ryan was spectacular. I was full of energy, eating super healthy, looked and felt beautiful, and I only gained 18lbs. (I was overweight to begin with so I'm sure it was more like I gained 48 but lost 30 due to the lifestyle change.) I even worked 40+ hours a week right up until I was admitted to be induced because I was two weeks late. Being pregnant with Ryan was the best I had ever felt in my life. But there were a few, maybe a dozen, nights that I just could not get comfortable. I slept, just not as deeply or as happily as I did before.
I never had a label as far as "side sleeper" or "back sleeper", etc. Until then I believe I slept differently every night, whichever position suited me at the time. But now that I was pregnant all I really wanted to do was lie on my belly, but obviously that plan was thwarted. I researched sleep positioners and read articles on the proper pregnancy sleep positions. I even bought some expensive piece of foam that guaranteed me a restful night. I had propped myself up with so many pillows that poor future Big Daddy R had only a tiny edge of our queen size mattress to lay on. For that and other reasons, he eventually moved to the couch (temporarily) to get a good night's sleep.
The term "bun in the oven" is not far from the truth because I truly felt like an oven baking a constantly rolling ball of dough. My stomach felt 100 degrees hotter than the rest of my body. I slept with my belly uncovered, with sheets and blankets and comforters covering the rest of my body, even early on in my pregnancy which was in the winter. In the summer, a fan positioned about a foot from my bulge was set to high, in addition to a window air conditioner which was not far from the bed either. Many nights I ran into that fan or tripped over it while running to the potty. I later ended up climbing over Big Daddy R to avoid the hassle, much to his displeasure, which is another reason why he moved to the couch.
One night when I did sleep deeply, we awoke in a puddle and panicked. "Is it time?" Nope. Calm down. It's just pee. Apparently I was so deep in la-la land that my bladder let loose with the kick of the baby's foot before I could even open my eyes. Yet another reason for the couch.
Everyone was telling me about how I would never sleep well again once I had kids and I really, truly, thought they were exaggerating. "Come on now", I thought, "It can't be all that bad!"
Enter baby: crying, screaming, teething, gassy, playful-at-all-hours-of-the-night baby. And fate laughs.
While my pregnancy with Ryan was wonderful, my labor was agonizingly long much in part to being induced. I can still remember the how the nurses kept trying to push sleeping pills on me in the beginning telling me that I needed to rest up and that I needed to save my energy for when things started going. I refused again and again until Robert finally yelled at them to leave me alone and stop trying to push their drugs on me. I hated being induced. I was one of those naive moms-to-be that wrote a birthing plan and proudly handed out copies to every doctor and nurse that entered the room. It detailed how I wanted no intervention what-so-ever, unless in emergency, or if I changed my mind which is the right of every woman. I didn't want to be induced but the doctors insisted since I was two weeks late. Oh how fate likes to mock me!
Nothing went according to MY plan. I ended up with an epidural, and suction to pull him out, just stopping short of a C-section. And through 36 hours of hard labor, I somehow managed to stay awake through it all. According to Big Daddy though, I did pass out in between strong contractions, and woke right back up a minute later to push again and again. And after it was all over, I was too excited to sleep. Oh I dosed here and there, an hour or two at a time, but I was filled with amazing hormones that gave me energy and the delusion that I was indeed Wonder Woman.
The first few months I was a zombie. But a carefree super-hero zombie. Any tiny peep and I was right there, wide awake and ready to solve the problem. I know they say you shouldn't play with them in the middle of the night, but I just couldn't resist. I was so in love and amazed at this tiny creation that I didn't really mind the lack of sleep. I saw it as a badge of honor.
We eventually experimented with all kinds of baby-sleep aids: sleep positioners, swaddling, vibration, rocking, music and sound machines. As it turned out, he loved the sound of chirping birds and preferred to be uncovered, able to stretch out. He also had an insatiable appetite and wanted to eat about every hour or two. So into our bed he came much to the dismay of our doctor and contrary to the words of all the baby experts I had read.
Big Daddy R suggested a new bed to accommodate our growing family, and so he could get off the couch and join us. A ginormous king size bed was agreed upon, or more likely, the salesman saw an easy commission. We have a tiny house with even smaller rooms. This bed takes up almost the entire room. We have a hip-wide path on either side and between the dressers at the foot of the bed. It's a tight squeeze. I remember thinking it was unnecessary and ridiculous to have such a huge bed. But the salesman assured us we would need it. He must have had kids. And the fates chuckle once again.
Although the new bed was heavenly comfort, its purpose was wasted on me. I returned to work full time when he was 3 months old. After an entire night of feeding, I woke early to go work out at the gym. I lost another 45 lbs. These hormones were amazing I tell ya!
He was a snuggler and being a mommy in love, so was I. His favorite position was to wedge his big melon under my chin and smash his face on my neck, which turns out to be rather uncomfortable for me. He also loves to stretch out his body in every direction, pushing me to the edge of the bed. I would wake up with a sore back because I would tense all my muscles to prevent myself from falling off the edge of the bed during the night.
Meanwhile, Big Daddy slept like a hibernating bear, growling away, enjoying a generous half of the luxurious cushion of slumber. And the sweet little snoozing baby was stretched out like a Chinese star. And here I was, sleeping on less than 12".
The worst part though was the heat. I lovingly referred to him as "my little hot-box" and more accurately, "my little sweat-head". It seemed he had been the source of all of the volcanic activity in my belly during pregnancy. And like then, I discovered a fan, blowing right on him, to be a soothing solution.
He was finally sleeping all night through by six months. We did the whole cry it out thing with him in his own crib and in his own room. And yes, it was agonizing for us. We sat up in our big bed listening to him scream, taking turns checking on him every five, then ten, then fifteen minutes, being sure not to say a word or crack a smile or make eye contact... for two whole hours straight... for less than a week. At the time, I had no idea how lucky we were. It seemed he enjoyed sleep as much as I did. The birds, the fan, and being able to stretch out in his own space was all he needed. Now there were a few rough nights later on when he was two and started having night terrors, just after we changed the crib into the toddler bed. But by then I could handle a few nights of briefly interrupted sleep. So for a while I had a nice big bed all to myself, and the snoring grizzly bear, and finally got some rest. That is, until I got pregnant again.
It wasn't until I was pregnant with Rowan that I understood what other moms were going through. She is the complete opposite of Ryan in every way. Hindsight has shown me that I had it made with my first. He was my easy baby, and Rowan is my challenge. I had trouble right from the start with my pregnancy, from simple aches & pains, swelling, & morning-noon-&-night sickness, to the more serious hospitalizations for dehydration, kidney stones, & C-diff, not to mention all of the sleep deprivation. And unlike Ryan, she shot out of the cannon after a brief six hours of easy, all natural (lest the requested epidural) labor.
At first, she was a wonderful baby. As long as her belly was full and her mouth was plugged with boob, she slept through most nights. Now I nursed my first until he was 14 months and he liked to eat about every hour or two for the first six months, so I figured I was a pro at nursing. But no, this baby showed me I knew nothing. My nipples cracked and bled and I cried out in pain all the time. I needed a break, but she insisted, and I gave in, trading my comfort and sanity for a little sleep. But with each new tooth came weeks worth of sleepless nights. In addition, it seemed she caught every virus (respiratory, stomach, or otherwise) that came along and then gave it to all of us just as she was recovering: so more months worth of interrupted night time peace. Sick and tired doesn't even begin to cover what I was feeling. I thought it couldn't get any worse.
Then Ryan was diagnosed with cancer. That's when I really learned about sleepless nights. I spent two months at his bedside in the PICU, too worried to sleep. When I did nod off, out of sheer exhaustion, I either had terrifying nightmares or dreamless voids of blackness, which never seemed to rejuvenate me. When I had the time and opportunity to sleep (thanks to Ronald McDonald House right next door to the hospital), I found I simply could not sleep for more than a few hours because the worry ate me up inside. I would leave the hospital, begrudgingly, around 11pm. I would shower, read, and nurse the baby for hours straight, and eventually I would fall asleep. But I ended up leaving the room at 5AM to head back to him. I hated being away from him for even a second.
Once we were home, there was a period of adjustment for all of us. Separation anxiety caused Rowan to nurse all day and night long. Every three weeks we returned to the hospital for treatment, which meant a couple of sleepless nights on an uncomfortable couch for me. I eventually learned to sleep again, once I learned to not worry so much. It's a work in progress. And then there were more problems looming just around the bend.
More teething, weaning, and milk allergies led to more months of lost Zs. Granted, poor little Rowan suffered the most from all of this, including all the confusion and separation anxiety from everything that was happening around her. So after weeks of trying to get her to sleep in her own bed unsuccessfully, we allowed her to continue to sleep with us. Once we solved the milk-allergy problem, we found that she sleeps quite well in her own crib. But each new tooth sends her back to our bed. But now that she was no longer nursing at 13 months (my choice - not hers), she devised a way to be as close as possible to me. It involved practically climbing on top of me, particularly my head, and hitting me with her hard-as-a-boulder-noggin. She is restless, constantly moving during the night, and babbles in her sleep. For someone so petite, she sure knows how to throw around her weight. I start her in the center of the bed and she mysteriously works her way to the center of my pillow. Again, I am left with a few inches of bed.
After everything Ryan's been through we allow him to sleep in our bed on occasion. At first it was so we could cuddle and hold him and cry ourselves to sleep: happy tears that he is still with us. But there are times when he is in pain, or feeling ill from the chemo and just needs the comfort of his mommy & daddy to get some sleep. We oblige. He still is a sweat head. And still manages to push me over to the edge.
Usually it's either one or the other, but there are too many nights when they are both in our bed. So there is just no room for mommy. There are times I wake up catching myself rolling off the edge. The times I have resorted the chair or couch have resulted in increased back pain and even more grumpiness. So I just reposition the sleeping babies and make the most of my few inches of bed.
Now a-days, bedtime isn't so bad. We have a night time ritual of toy clean up, teeth brushing, pjs, stories, sippies of water, and tuck in, along with their favorite "sleepy music" CD playing in the background. Most nights the crying lasts a few minutes, or not at all. Some nights I actually get cuddle time with Big Daddy R. And on occasion, I actually do get some sleep, even when they are hogging the bed. One of my favorite Beatles songs describes it best...
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby
Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby
Being greeted by smiles and smothered in kisses in the morning makes it all worth it. And whether or not I manage to get some shut-eye, life is golden. Eventually, maybe in a few years, I will finally be able to sleep like I used to. And those golden bricks of sleep will rain down from heaven and knock me out! (Is that fate laughing?) The kids had better be out of our bed by then, but I still expect the smiles and kisses!
