Sleeping Vicariously

Our babysitter came over at 5PM and announced that  it was her birthday. For a second, I was confused. "Why's she here? Shouldn't she be out celebrating tonight?" I thought.

Then she added, "After I leave here, I 'm going to take a nap and then my friends are taking me out."

Ah, youth. I had nearly forgotten. Then, she nonchalantly mentioned sleep and I remembered. She's 21. She's not a mom.

I found her lack of reverence for sleep breathtaking. She announced taking a nap at night like it was a given. It signified the ability to sleep with abandon, to run fast and lose with it, like a profligate. She might as well have been discussing inhaling and exhaling instead of the exotic treasure to be coveted that sleep has become to me.

She says stuff off the cuff with no idea how it stops me in my tracks. One time, I asked her about her trip home to visit her family. She came out with this beaut, "I only got to lay out once."

Lay out? First, I don't need any more wrinkles, thank you very much, Ms. Flawless Twenty-Something Skin Girl. Second, do you know how much I would give for the time to lie my body in a horizontal position in the sun with the sole responsibility of baking my front and backside evenly (and, dare I say it...sleeping)?

I think about sharing how different our respective perspectives are, but I know she just wouldn't understand. So I just nod, as if I'm commiserating about the horrible tragedy that befell her while sitting at home and cursing the grey skies above.

I was 21. I understand her. It took her reminder, but I remember. When you're 21, you have long stretches of time to fill at your leisure. Napping is something you take for granted, tan lines a major preoccupation.

She can't possibly comprehend how something as commonplace as sun-worshipping turns into a huge indulgence for the mom of a toddler. As it should be. Really, I didn't grasp what an overwhelming, non-stop responsibility a child is either, until becoming a mom.

The funny thing is that I didn't feel jealous of her carefree ways, certainly not about the laying out bit. Being 21 may mean a world of possibility is ahead of you, but I also remember a lot of confusion about what direction to take in life and many missteps along the way.

I can appreciate the privilege of youth without wanting to go back. Rather bizarrely, I feel more rested just thinking about napping after dark.

I am vicariously sleeping. Is there such a thing? There is now.



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Photo Source: Mike Lehmann, Mike Switzerland, Wikipedia. License This photo has been altered and does not suggest that the licenser endorses this blog or its use.

This Time is Ours

I am composed of decades of history. Claire's history starts with me. 

I possess many identities. "Mama" is the only one Claire knows.

I struggle to remember being so young. Claire lives fully in the present without reflection.

I'm in awe of these distinctions. We see one another across a divide of time and experience.

Yet, we share an intimacy begun in the womb. Singularly, I am her mother. She is my child. I am humbled by such grace. I am overwhelmed by the weight of its responsibility also.

Parts of me have become neglected, the ones other than "mama", the ones from before her. I feel them flicker inside, exhorting me not to forget them.

But Claire began inside me too. She grows, still, in my gaze. It reflects back to her who she is and who she will become.

This kind of love only a mother knows, only she can give. It means that pieces of me lay fallow, for awhile. Claire won't be little for long. A day will come soon when I'm not the center of her world. 

Then, Claire will have her own mix of identities. They will have grown out of the relationship we are building now. 

This time is ours. I wish to savor it greedily.


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