misplaced mama

 I need sleep.

I need sleep in order to be a decent and sane person.

I don’t know how I used to do it.  For years I’d go out three to four times a week until the wee hours. Looking at the bottom of the whiskey glass and always ordering one more while chain smoking like a gangster.  I’d end up with three to four hours of sleep and still get up, go to class and eventually spend ten hour days cultivating an almost career.  Certainly I remember moments where I was groggy and cranky, but in general, most days went well.  I’d drink a coffee or two, do stretches, breath deeply and I could easily get through the day with productivity and a damn big smile.  I never once thought to really stop and catch up on sleep.  My body just adjusted to the lack of it.  

Those days are a distant speck of memory.  My new teachers and bosses are obviously more demanding, far more critical, with totally unreasonable deadlines.  They redefine the phrase I needed that yesterday.

These days with a moment less than eight hours of sleep a night I collapse in a broken heap like building in an earthquake.  My emotional state becomes shaken and fragile at best. I become a contestant for worst mother of the day.   The reason I am exhausted is because somehow my children have kept me awake more than I can handle.  They walk around in a sleep-deprived tyranny.  There is a constant flow of tears, insatiable hunger for the deepest R.E.M yet nobody will surrender to napping, except for me and then I risk possible ingestion of poisons, knife play or unsupervised outdoor adventures. Bottom line, days without sufficient sleep: Suck.

Assuming surrender, I just accepted the girls to come into our room in the middle the night.  In attempts to preserve these last moments of just the three of us, before the New Arrival, I have let go and gave them, and myself, the snuggle of them in bed, spooned in every possible way, our bodies all intertwined and warmed from familiar flesh.

Bet let’s get honest here.

The luxuriously large bed, the California King, that provided a country-sized space for a family of three, has become less than large enough.  My body does not get smaller; it takes room for two.  The girls are not shrinking either, like weeds, their bodies widen and grow.  B remains on a sliver of bed at all times, coverless.  I am wedged between both girls, little feet pushing into my stomach or hips, arms across my face, bottoms pressing against my lower back. 

One typical scenario:

Sula enters around 3am.  She spends the first ½ hour of her arrival wiggling her way so close to me she could very well crawl back inside.  She insists I face her.  She spends the next 1/ hour stroking my face and asking me to make her dinner.  She’ll then proceed to list all the foods she would like to eat: Banana and almond butter; juicy eggs; mashed potatoes and peas, apples and frozen waffles.  When I explain that it’s not dinner time she spends the next fifteen minutes crying and then wailing and yelling.  Soon enters Mia, shaken from sleep by the howls of her little sister. She crawls into the other side of me.  We calm Sula down.  My hip begins to ache and I must change sides to elevate the pressure from one side to the other.  I flip over and all hell breaks loose.  Sula wants me to face her.  Mia wants me to face away from her.  Stop breathing on me, Mama, your breath is hot and stinky!  Turn around! And Sula, face me mama, face me mama, face me!!!!!! I wanna see your face!!!!!

Two hours and if we are lucky we have all fallen back to sleep. 

The other scenario is this one:

They enter our room together, crying.  B immediately takes them back into their room.  He passes out next to them as they cry for an hour wanting to come into bed with me.  He ends up cramped in their double bed.  I end up awake for two hours anyway because the initial crying episode has eventually le me to insomnia.  I can’t fall back to sleep.

Neither work.

Sweet surrender.  Back to the basics.  The goal is sleep. I need it.  B needs it.  Mia and Sula need it.

What would make them feel secure, encourage them to stay asleep and if they woke up, did not need to enter our bed to finish the night? 

So we pick up their bed.  Lugged it into our room.  Arranged it so both beds are next to each other.  One large bed.  2X10 feet of floor space is left.  That is not a lot.  Two nights now and both have woken up.  Sula went right back to sleep.  Mia, with about 10 minutes of gentle persuading and explaining she had to stay in her bed, (which is pushed right up to our own) did as well.  I would never have thought this could be the answer.  But the answer needed to point right to sleep.  And lack of it now only ensures exhaustion during labor, my biggest fear.  To birth, one needs stored fuel and rest.

They girls need to be near us still, it’s obvious; during this transition of moving and then the pending arrival of new family member, they are asking for more.  If creating a family bedroom works then there is my solution.  I just hope by the time the baby comes, they are cozy and knocked out cold all night; their Ocean Sounds Deep Sleep CD on repeat giving them that white noise that hinders one from opening their eyes. Perhaps both of their deeper knowing, their visions of a new baby in our room, has forced them to ask for reassurance that they are still safe and protected by us; that there needs are still met.  I can only offer ways to meet those needs, and the ways that I find must fulfill all of our needs, the whole family.

My goal in parenting is what will be gentlest on us all? What will cause the least amount of struggle? In yoga it is impossible to force your body into flexibility.  You can try but it never works.  For instance, if your chest doesn’t reach your thighs in a forward fold, you can push your chest there in numerous ways, none of which are gentle or easy on the muscles.  None of which involve breathing your way into it. Or you can allow yourself some props; bend your knees, use a block for support, or go against the wall.  Or you can just wait.  Let your body hang and just cultivating deeper breathing until one day, maybe, your chest will reach, your legs are straight and you are folded in half. Forcing may bring your chest to your knees in one try, giving you a fast and immediate feeling of accomplishment, but guaranteed it will be temporary. Your body will snap right back to the place it remembers, its own wise edge.

I guess that’s the practice I am trying to remember during this process.  I can force them to be asleep in their own beds, doors locked. I play part in the struggle, pushing them to be in a place they are not ready to venture as I get pushed to angry or disappointment.  Or I can bring out the props.  Move the bed into our room.  Play those ocean waves.  Breathe one night at a time.  Focusing on natural flexibility and organic transitions.  And sleep.