It's the middle of the night , right now, and I'm sitting in the dark bedroom of my two youngest children, feeling like I'm floating in a little bubble of nocturnal aloneness and knowing that many many other parents are also awake at precisely this moment. Rocking, singing, shushing.
It has been a while since I saw 1am for reasons not related to staying up late giggling over board games and shenanigans with close friends. Last night I got caught up in an excellent book and looked at the time at midnight when Talia inexplicably knocked on the bedroom door. She usually climbs into bed with us when she wakes in the morning, quiet as a mouse and not caring in the least whether she was invited. Midnight waking is so unusual now. Talia knocking on a door almost unheard of.
I didn't answer, hoping she'd just decide to go back to bed. Fifteen minutes later I heard feet on the stairs and decided I'd better go and see what was going on. Rowan and Talia were both sitting down there wrapped in blankets and looking grumpy.
So here I am. I've sung about fifteen rounds of Ong Tal Sam (Rowan's favourite) and then about half of the folk songs I know (leaving out the particularly death-y or overly lively ones), and now I'm sitting here silently willing two small figures to be still enough to risk trying to take myself back to bed.
I'm not sure why I'm documenting it except to say that I can't remember the last time I did this. I can't remember the last time I nursed a baby to sleep or coslept all night (it must be over a year ago as Talia has been weaned for a year). Many sleepless nights, many repetitions of soothing and shushing, quelling my own impatience (or sometimes, futilely, not).
I spent some time with some mums of very little ones earlier, and remembered the baby days and especially participating in numerous semi-exhausted conversations about sleep. Numerous blog posts. How obsessed with sleep I was, documenting it or speculating about it or complaining about it or just dreaming of it; even when cosleeping was going smoothly and easily and I was getting more rest than those frustrating and impossible other Times (which I often didn't dare to talk about in many places lest someone tell me to "just" solve it by immediately sleep training or weaning) - I think I recall a lot of self-whining-censorship. And even so, the "sleep" tag on my old blog was of epic proportions.
Several things are incredibly, suddenly, easier since Talia weaned. I feel like my identity and purpose shifted without my permission, without being prepared or considering the cost. I am glad for a different set of freedoms and responsibilities and potential. At the same time, I don't feel I have adjusted completely yet.
Not that change usually has the courtesy to await my preferences.
(I think I lost the thread of my own thoughts, here. I blame the time, and leave it unedited in solidarity with fellow sleep deprived parents. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.)
