Sleep

I won't be going to sleep any time soon...  Little G is on her way home from a long field day with her class, and I am waiting for the bus to safely deliver her.  The waiting is difficult, but not unfamiliar.  It's fairly early in the evening, but I'd really like to be in my jammies and ready for bed.

Sleep is something I've learned to postpone, to do without, to occasionally fantasize about like I once dreamt of seeing my name published prominently.

What's that you say?  My kids are older?  Oh, how funny...as if that makes any difference!  Easy and consistent sleep is, I believe, one of those things we simply sacrifice for our children on occasion.

Before that baby’s even born, the physical and emotional upheaval of pregnancy keeps us awake.  Dreams, wild and sometimes theatrical, keep us from sleep.  Joints and ligaments and body parts we never knew we had, are suddenly calling to us overnight. 

People tell us, “When the baby comes, you can sleep when they sleep!”

Once the sweet bundle of joy is placed in our arms, a whole new reason for our sleeplessness appears.  Absolute dependence shines from those sweet eyes.  When they do sleep, we find ourselves watching them, guarding against the night. Or bathing. Or grabbing bites of lukewarm dinner.  Or staring into space, wondering, “Why can’t I sleep?”

Toddler years, terrific and temperamental, show us how even the most exhausted of children won’t necessarily sleep when they’re tired.  They fight, bleary-eyed and puffy-cheeked, against the rest that their parents desperately crave.

We briefly think, “We can rest now that they’re older!” when it’s time to send them off to school.  But, alas, we are mistaken. They have sleepovers , stomach bugs, school projects and insomnia. They wake us on Saturdays for sports.  They wake us to share the nightmares of the night before. Tossing and turning, we sleep lightly and wait for nighttime visitors.

Independent and growing fast, our children soon no longer visit us in the middle of the night.  They sleep as late as we will let them, they have whole sections of their lives that don’t involve us (much). Do we sleep now, secure in their growing autonomy?  

No!

Now we think about who their friends are.  What their grades are.  Their futures, their present, the diaphanous and distressing unknown that arises as our children begin to stand on their own.  We await curfew. 

People tell us, and we believe, “When they move out, you can sleep.”

I have come to suspect, though, that parents are never going to rest well.  We will never consistently lay our heads down at night, safe and secure and utterly at peace.  Once our kids move out, we think about college, and safety, and whether they’re happy.  We dissect conversations, life choices, events and aspirations… 

The phone rings with a wrong number, at the dreaded darkest hour, and we lie awake wondering if it might have been them. If they are okay.  If they, in turn, are sleeping.

Sleep

Originally from
http://www.eziahp.com/effects-of-sleep-deprivation-on-health

Before that baby’s even born, the physical and emotional upheaval of pregnancy keep us awake.  Dreams, wild and sometimes theatrical, keep us from sleep.  Joints and ligaments and body parts we never knew we had, are suddenly calling to us overnight.  

Well-meaning people tell us, “When the baby comes, you can sleep when they sleep!”

Once the sweet bundle of joy is placed in our arms, a whole new reason for our sleeplessness appears.  Absolute dependence shines from those sweet eyes.  When they do sleep, we find ourselves watching them, guarding against the night. Or bathing. Or grabbing bites of lukewarm dinner.  Or staring into space, wondering, “Why can’t I sleep?”

Toddler years, terrific and temperamental, show us how even the most exhausted of children won’t necessarily sleep when they’re tired.  They fight, bleary-eyed and puffy-cheeked, against the rest that their parents desperately crave.

We briefly think, “We can rest now that they’re older!” when it’s time to send them off to school.  But, alas, we are mistaken. They have sleepovers , stomach bugs, school projects and insomnia. They wake us on Saturdays for sports and to share the dreams of the night before. Tossing and turning, we wait for nighttime interruptions.

Independent and growing fast, our children soon no longer visit us in the middle of the night.  They sleep as late as we will let them, they have whole sections of their lives that don’t involve us (much). Do we sleep now, secure in their growing autonomy?  No.  Now we think about who their friends are.  What their grades are.  Their future, their present, the diaphanous and distressing unknown that arises as our children begin to stand on their own.  We await curfew.  People tell us, and we believe, “When they move out, you can sleep.”

I have come to suspect, though, that parents are never going to rest well.  We will never consistently lay our heads down at night, safe and secure and utterly at peace.  Once our kids move out, we think about college, and safety, and whether they’re happy.  We dissect conversations, life choices, events and aspirations… The phone rings with a wrong number, at the dreaded darkest hour, and we lie awake wondering if it might have been them. If they are okay. 

If they, in turn, are sleeping.

This Is For You

This is for you, sitting at the table with your spouse while your child screams bloody murder because you won’t give in.  You picked your battle.  You set the boundaries.  You won, and you understand that this is only the first of many but there will be sweet moments as well.  Good job.

I’ve been there, I know the looks across the dinner plates, wondering, “is this worth it?”  

Yes.  It will be.

This is for you, watching your child walk down the hall to their classroom every morning.  You know they can make it on their own but the sweet backward glances won’t last forever.  So you watch them.  Every step.

This is also for you, who drive your children to the door and give them a quick, air-blown kiss.  Your confidence in your child will help them stand strong.  Those sweet air kisses won’t last forever, either, so you cherish each one.  And you give them space.

This is for any parent who has cried over their children, desperately seeking answers.  Something feels wrong, something is hurting your child, and you aren’t sure where to turn.  You keep asking and calling and calling again—This is for you, who keep asking the hard questions of those who are supposed to help you when things seem impossible.

This is for any parent whose child seems like Super Kid.  Your battle is different, seeking to help your child achieve balance and define success in their own terms.  There are different pressures for you and yours, but there is still pressure.

This is for you, and you know who you are, as you daydream of a future where you can sit next to your ex at your child’s wedding.  The bitterness, the lack of communication, the stonewalling—over.  It will take a lot of work to get there, but you hold out hope even as you don’t settle for less than the best for your kids.

This is for you, Mom and Dad, who did it.  Despite the anger and the disappointment and the horrible sadness of a marriage lost, you were able to be at our wedding together.  And we saw nothing but smiles.

Parenthood is among the most difficult of jobs, because while we are in the moment we cannot see ahead to the results of our labor.  Will they learn?  Will things change?  Will the constant drip drip drip of love from us be enough? 

We think about those dinosaurs in “Jurassic Park,” that bumped against the electric wires, one by one, finding the weakest link until they escaped.  We know children are like that.  They test and they test and if they find a weak spot…they can go on the attack. 

Think, too, of the ultimate vulnerability of a newborn.  Eyes closed, defenseless and full of need, need, NEED.  Children are like this, too.  Soft and pliant, impressionable and growing. 

It can be so hard, sometimes, to decide which child we are dealing with.  Is it the defiant, dangerous dinosaur?  Or the needy, vulnerable newborn?  Or neither? 

And even as we raise our children, we do so with others.  The parent who is here, the parent who isn’t.  We deal as a team, or we struggle as foes. 

Each parent, each child has different battles to be fought and won.  Some will be lost, some will not even begin because you’ve carefully decided that this isn’t a battle to die for.  I’m not trying to imply that parenting is a war, or that there aren’t infinite rewards when it works.  Parenting is hard, though, no matter who your kid is.

The most important thing is that if we stand shoulder to shoulder, instead of pointed finger at pointed finger, we all succeed.