Wednesday, May 11, 2016
The sheets are filled with strangers
This morning Micah opened his eyes and asked "are the streets filled with strangers?" I had no idea what he was talking about. Technically yes. "It's from a Joni Mitchel song" Ana said from her side of the bed.
Sometime in 2013 I made a grave parenting mistake. Ana was at a conference for police lawyers, not what they are called, and an 18 month old Micah and I were left to fend for ourselves. I love Micah and I love sleep. At times, the two can seem mutually exclusive and for this particular stretch of time they very much were. I was so sleepy. So weak.
It was late, maybe midnight. I heard my sweet little monster crying in the next room. He had long blonde curls back then and was small and cute like one of those Maltese dogs. Bischone Frisee? Chinese crested? I'm just naming small dogs now.
Anyway, I was tired and he was awake. And instead of sitting with him and soothing him until he feel back to sleep in his own bed, I brought him into mine. And it was wonderful. We snuggled and slept so good. And then I did it again the next night. And again. So that by the time Ana got back from the conference, we'd established a very clear and terrible pattern of weakness and glorious, glorious sleep.
We've had 2 years to lay the hammer down. Each night he starts out in his own toddler bed, but somewhere between 11 and 2 we hear him hop down and stumble into our room. 2 years of this. I keep hoping he'll sleep through the night by mistake. Wake up in his own bed just one time so that we can break the streak without the war that I know is coming.
There are plenty of downsides to our sleeping arrangement. He kicks us. He elbows us. He likes to tuck his feet underneath me, and when his toenails are too long, I suffer. He's like a Chinese Crested that way. But I love it too. I love hearing him breath at night. And his little hands. Everything seems more precious and delicate in the darkness. And the way he drunkenly climbs into bed. I'll miss it.
So here we are, the three of us, Micah quoting Joni Mitchell, spread out across us like the letter H. Totally bad, but goddam is it good.
Sometime in 2013 I made a grave parenting mistake. Ana was at a conference for police lawyers, not what they are called, and an 18 month old Micah and I were left to fend for ourselves. I love Micah and I love sleep. At times, the two can seem mutually exclusive and for this particular stretch of time they very much were. I was so sleepy. So weak.
It was late, maybe midnight. I heard my sweet little monster crying in the next room. He had long blonde curls back then and was small and cute like one of those Maltese dogs. Bischone Frisee? Chinese crested? I'm just naming small dogs now.
Anyway, I was tired and he was awake. And instead of sitting with him and soothing him until he feel back to sleep in his own bed, I brought him into mine. And it was wonderful. We snuggled and slept so good. And then I did it again the next night. And again. So that by the time Ana got back from the conference, we'd established a very clear and terrible pattern of weakness and glorious, glorious sleep.
We've had 2 years to lay the hammer down. Each night he starts out in his own toddler bed, but somewhere between 11 and 2 we hear him hop down and stumble into our room. 2 years of this. I keep hoping he'll sleep through the night by mistake. Wake up in his own bed just one time so that we can break the streak without the war that I know is coming.
There are plenty of downsides to our sleeping arrangement. He kicks us. He elbows us. He likes to tuck his feet underneath me, and when his toenails are too long, I suffer. He's like a Chinese Crested that way. But I love it too. I love hearing him breath at night. And his little hands. Everything seems more precious and delicate in the darkness. And the way he drunkenly climbs into bed. I'll miss it.
So here we are, the three of us, Micah quoting Joni Mitchell, spread out across us like the letter H. Totally bad, but goddam is it good.
# posted by joel @ 7:33 AM 
