Here is what I have decided: sleep will never come for my brilliant, lovely, creative, beautiful boy. I know I have talked about this before, but now I really mean it. We are in his third year of life and the illusive slumber continues. Last night, for example, he only woke up four times before his bunny clock tells him he can get up at 6:15a.m. And THAT was a good night, folks. As his non-nursing mother, it has somehow become my job (and mine alone) to tend to his night time needs. This is for fear he will melt down when denied access to the golden nectar that flows from his other mother’s breasts. I am, once again, exhausted.
We have a space heater in his room because it is impossible to control the temperature any other way. This means that we must remove all obstacles within a three foot radius of the heater. So, we have taken to folding his rug back over itself to create a void for the heater. What I discovered this morning is that this doubled over rug with rug pad makes a suitable cot for me. All curled up on his floor, like our over-sized cat Chicken, I was almost able to drift off to sleep. Once more I turned over hoping I could be a little more comfortable, only to snap to attention as the sticky pad used to keep the rug in place tore away from my pajamas loud enough to wake the dead. Shocked was I when my boy remained silent in his crib. Using his little stuffed chair as a pillow, I got cozy and grateful for this one free-pass. “Mama. Pat you.” I hear as I am seconds away from dreamland myself. (Pardon my language here…) “MOTHER FUCKER!” I screamed inside my head vowing to get rid of the sticky pad and allow the rug to go lawless and untamed.
So, I did. Pat you, as he says. Once I could be assured he was fully asleep again, I went back to our bedroom. Denying the urge to slam the door and wake up my snoring other half, I eased it shut and slid back into bed. S turned over, never leaving the rhythmic breathing: in-two-three, out-two-three.
The last few days when my son has gotten up for the day, he will tell his other mother that Mama came in and helped him in the night. He will say, “Mama be there. Pat you and M be quiet.” I kind of love it, being the savior if only for a few minutes. In the middle of the night, I want to be asleep and nothing more. But in the daylight, I’ll take being the one he counts on when the sun goes down.