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.

Dueling Drama Queens

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Tantrums are reaching a fever pitch in this house. The toddler is not the only offending party. She and her mom (that would be me) take turns dawning the drama-queen crown. Wait, let me explain. I have an excuse for my bad behavior.

(My daughter does too. She's a toddler. Her excuse is better.)

I've been sick the last few days. And not just with a garden-variety cold. This bug was flu-like. I swear even my eyelashes hurt. Light and sound aggravated the pain. You can probably guess which of these two triggers my daughter exacerbated. Her cries, yells and demands were like daggers to my head.

I needed relief. It was not coming quickly enough.

At this point, a part of my reptilian brain decides that yelling "Stop! I just can't take it anymore" (and things of a similar ilk, sometimes laced with profanity) is a good idea. Momentarily, I actually feel better. But amping up the temperature of the situation is not a great long-term strategy. It doesn't work for me or my daughter. In the end, I don't know who ends up feeling worse. Probably me since I'm the one who is supposed to be the adult (or at least act like one a good deal of the time).

I don't have much else to say, other than to qualify the confession above by saying that I don't behave this way with the regularity that it occurred during my recent convalescence. Really, I was just wondering what the rest of you do when there's no relief in sight, when you have had it, when you don't have any more resources at your disposal and you can no longer rise above yourself.

And, please, don't tell me to walk away and take a break. My daughter just follows me. And cries louder (my eyelashes start hurting again just thinking about it).


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Quiet, Please.

George and Claire went out together for a few hours yesterday. I was alone in the house. I let the obligations go. I listened to the blood rushing through my head, the heat circulating through the pipes, my breath's rhythm.

Silence like this is novel. It's quiet when my baby is asleep. But not silent. The absence of sound becomes filled with my anticipation of her cough, a bad dream, or a movement of some kind.

A mother's connection to her child makes a sound, even when her child naps.

Yesterday, I had free time. Free time. Let the words roll over your tongue slowly. Imagine not being hurried, not being needed, not feeing like you're stealing a moment for yourself.

Yesterday, I didn't want George and Claire to come home. I wanted to run away. I didn't want to have any responsibilities.

I write often about the way our identity changes when we become a mom, the reshuffle of priorities, the parts of ourselves that get put aside, because of the all-encompassing nature of being a parent. I don't write about my hatred for how these changes make me feel sometimes, or how I want to quiet the voices in my head.

You see, it's just that I don't want to choose between me and my daughter. I don't want to see my daughter as a chore. I don't want to have limits. I don't want solitude to get pushed aside. I want there to be more time and less obligations. I want my husband to take her more. You see, before Claire, there was more time. It all makes me so mad, I could jump up and down and throw a tantrum the likes of which even my daughter couldn't muster.

But, then, I feel guilty.

"I called my daughter a chore! How can I want to run away from my family?" I start to panic a bit, making up doomsday scenarios in my head. "What if they went away forever? That would serve me right." Self-recrimination sets in about now. "I need to just suck it up! I need to just be grateful for the time I have. I don't even work and I only have one kid; I don't have nearly as much on my plate as some people. What am I complaining about? I need to stop complaining!"

There are many truths. other than the ones in my head. I know that my feelings will pass. I know that I could not do without my daughter and husband for that long. I like that they need me. I need them too.

I also know that I really do need more time for myself. And that I'm probably not going to get it.

Yes, so many truths. Ones that refuse to be reconciled.


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