No, This Isn’t the One

This isn’t my wonderful middle-of-the-night post. This is my “What Was My Husband Thinking” post. I’m sound asleep. Something, as I’ve commented on lately, is not easy to come by in my land of the full moon and four-legged critters. Once upon a time, I was a heavy sleeper. I mean, nothing would wake me. Then I had children.

My first child was premature by two months. She weighed 3lbs 5oz. At the time, she was the smallest baby the hospital had. A week later they had their first 1lb something and she was kicked out of her title. At any rate, she was basically healthy and just had to gain weight (thank you God). When she finally got to 5lbs she was able to come home. Then the fun began. Premies are not like other children. Their will to survive just isn’t as developed. If you don’t wake them up and make them eat, they’ll sleep until they die. So, you wake them up every two hours and try to get an ounce of formula down their little gullets while constantly snapping them on the bottom of the feet or rubbing their heads to try and keep them awake. It sounds cruel, I know, but there isn’t much of an option. After an hour of this, you might get 1/2 oz to 1 oz in them, then put them back to bed…and yourself…until the next 2-hour feeding. Exhaustion becomes the word of the day.

When my second was born two years later, he was a dream. He took full bottles (I never had any luck breastfeeding any of them), slept all night, and made me realize all babies weren’t so much work. Still, the occasionally are sick or cranky or teething, and my sleep patterns were established with mom-radar now. One squeek from either of them and I was alert and listening to see if they were going to be going back to sleep or if further attention was needed.

My third was born three years later and she, too, was a little princess. Good sleeping habits, good eating habits. I had it good.

The last one, two years later, wasn’t quite as easy. He became the one who had chronic ear infections and was up most nights for the first four years. Sleep became once again catch-as-catch-can.

Now they are all grown and have been so for awhile. The deep sleeping has never returned. I know when Hubby’s awake before he tells me, although unless he starts talking to me I won’t wake fully and can drift back to a deeper slumber. Those are the key words… unless he starts talking to me. He has this need when he can’t sleep to tell me he’s awake. I’ve never figured that out. The last thing I want to do when I can’t sleep is to wake him up to tell him. Last night, I happened to be in one of my unusually sounder sleeps – it could be that was even when I was dreaming of the ever-elusive blog entry. Suddenly, he leans over me in bed.

“I can’t sleep”.
“Uh huh”, I mumble.
“The moon snuck in through the edge of the slider and hit me square in the face and woke me up”.
“Okay”.
“Damn moon”.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing. I just wanted you to know.”
“Allright”.

I swear, three minutes later he was snoring. Me, I’m looking up at the ceiling. Damn moon.