Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Sleep evades me. We used to be so close she and I, it was easy. Like a small child passed out in the back of the car, carried up the stairs, put into pajamas and then to bed without even a change in breathing patterns. I remember once going to the drive in movie. The old Aries station wagon with wood siding, my parents called it a lemon. But that night it was a magical place, the back seat laid flat, piled high with pillows and blankets. My sister and I in our pajamas. Excitement. I have no memory of the movie. I remember the giddiness, the popcorn, the speaker placed in the window. I remember waking up as my parents pulled into the driveway, pretending to still sleep. I was carried in and placed in bed. We only went that once, the memory will always be with me. Sleep was easy then, achievable without pills or libations. I am not sure when things changed, when the one thing that I craved most became the hardest to achieve. I do know that having small children has tightened the sleep parameters significantly. It is a hard start to the morning, no more lazily hitting snooze, slowly pulling oneself out of bed and then indulging in a cup of coffee that stays hot to the end. Mornings are now hurried and immediate. Baby nursing, hungry boys, and a tired body that fell asleep a mere handful of hours before. But there is no anger, no resentment, as my children climb into bed with me and shower me with affection. The baby taking a brief break from nursing to smile and coo, making the sacrifice of sleep small. I long for the day when I will make beautiful memories for my children, where details evade them, but the joy does not. I pray that they will be friends with sleep for many years to come, and that some day I will reconcile with her as well.