Once upon a time, I used to sleep. 8 hours a night, uninterrupted. Wake up around 8:00 am, laze around for a while, maybe press the snooze button a few times. Ease into the day gradually.
These days, sleep is a precious commodity, with demand far exceeding supply. I don’t want to blame this shortage on the kids, but I have to. After all, for the past 3 years they have mounted a concerted campaign to rob us of our most valued resource.
In the early days, it was completely expected. Everyone knows that infants wake up a couple of times per night to feed. Totally cool, it comes with the territory.
The past few months are a different story. K is, and has always been, an early riser. He usually begins stirring sometime around 5:30 am, and walks into our room a few minutes later. This is followed by roughly 10 minutes of toddler ping-pong as B and I try to contain him and he kicks us in the face, chest, breast, neck and head. 9 times of out 10, this also wakes up A, and by 6:00 am we’re headed downstairs for breakfast. This isn’t so bad on weekdays, but it’s absolutely demoralizing on weekends and holidays.
I’ve read a few books about kids and sleep hoping to find a magic solution. The Ferber book has lots of suggestions, then states “you may just have to accept things as they are and look forward to the time when he is old enough to be up and about without waking you”. My God, man, that’s at least 5 years from now. Are you kidding me?
As I speak, A has fallen asleep on the couch. That’s the funny thing about kids and sleep – they’re never cuter than when they’re sleeping. Some of my favourite memories are rocking one of the boys to sleep, feeling the weight of his head on my shoulder. Falling asleep is a joy, it’s the waking that we have to work on.