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.

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