To Sleep, To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
My husband and I have always been late-to-bed, later-to-rise people. That's just one of the reasons we got along so well. My close friend, who was pregnant simultaneously, has always been an early-to-bed type. She delivered 11 hours before I did.
We should have switched babies.
When you're pregnant, your baby gets used to a schedule I call China time, a cruel trick of nature. The fetus sleeps while you're active because your movements rock it to sleep. But when you lie down and put your feet up for a bit of rest, the fetus wakes up and starts cranking.
Therefore, once the baby is born, forget sleep. Whenever you want to sleep, your baby wants to play. Sleep becomes a faint memory. You learn to nap. Nap is not sleep.
Sleep is when your conscious brain shuts off for six to nine uninterrupted hours. Sleep as you once knew it will elude you for the rest of your life.
Nap is when your body shuts down for refueling and repairs. However, one part of your brain stays fully awake. This miraculous torture technique is not shared by your husband who regains the gift of sleep before the baby is eight days old.
You, on the other hand, will develop super hearing powers that the comic books don't chronicle. You will hear the baby roll over in the next room. You will hear ice cubes drop into the bin in your freezer's icemaker. Cars driving blocks away sound like they're in your driveway. Your neighbor has a drippy faucet. Her husband has a deviated septum.
You can’t fight it. Sleep deprivation has been used to break hardier souls than you. Just give in. The baby has you surrounded!
Learning to survive sleep deprivation requires a single-minded selfishness capable of embarrassing Scarlet O'Hara. Forget about the housework, the dishes, the cooking, the cobwebs. Be rude to guests and family members. If the baby sleeps, find the nearest bed or sofa and nap. I was once caught napping in the furniture section of the local department store, with my son snoring on my chest.
If friends or family offer help, leap at them with tears of gratitude in your bloodshot eyes. Do not ask them to feed, diaper or rock the baby. Ask them to wash the kitchen floor or do the laundry. If they truly want to help, they'll do it. If not, send them home. If they want to coo, they can do it when the baby can coo back, say at about eight months old.
If you’re offered a gift of a baby nurse, take the money and get a maid instead. They're less expensive and more useful. Your hospital, pediatrician, mother and in-laws will tell you what to do for the baby. What you really need is someone to take care of you. You just had a Metroliner drive through your uterus. You're the one who needs to be pampered.
For the same cost as a baby nurse for a week, we hired a woman who came every afternoon for four weeks. She straightened the house. She did the laundry. She answered the phone. She cleaned the dishes piled up in the sink. She ran errands to get milk, diapers, a prescription, or a pizza.
Of course, this woman could talk a hole through a boulder. I learned about her husband's heart condition, her son's employment troubles, her flat feet and bad back. When my friends came to visit, she held court. They all left with quizzical lines on their foreheads and open mouths. No one saw the baby. No one got to talk to me. None of us knew what to do.
Then she began to advise me. Before she arrived I put on make-up to avoid hearing "what a poor pale thing" I was, followed by her discourse on iron-poor blood. I dressed in the colors she said complemented my coloring. I fixed my hair so it wouldn't hide my face. My own mother tiptoed around her.
When she finally stopped coming, it was bliss...for about twenty minutes. Then I realized I would have to choose between napping and the housework. I found a cool spot on the couch and passed out.
According to my husband's calculations, there's only 6,256 more sleepless nights before we are a childfree house again. If so, I surrender. I’ll go peaceably. Just put me in a nice padded cell with a comfortable mattress and no alarm clock.
We should have switched babies.
When you're pregnant, your baby gets used to a schedule I call China time, a cruel trick of nature. The fetus sleeps while you're active because your movements rock it to sleep. But when you lie down and put your feet up for a bit of rest, the fetus wakes up and starts cranking.
Therefore, once the baby is born, forget sleep. Whenever you want to sleep, your baby wants to play. Sleep becomes a faint memory. You learn to nap. Nap is not sleep.
Sleep is when your conscious brain shuts off for six to nine uninterrupted hours. Sleep as you once knew it will elude you for the rest of your life.
Nap is when your body shuts down for refueling and repairs. However, one part of your brain stays fully awake. This miraculous torture technique is not shared by your husband who regains the gift of sleep before the baby is eight days old.
You, on the other hand, will develop super hearing powers that the comic books don't chronicle. You will hear the baby roll over in the next room. You will hear ice cubes drop into the bin in your freezer's icemaker. Cars driving blocks away sound like they're in your driveway. Your neighbor has a drippy faucet. Her husband has a deviated septum.
You can’t fight it. Sleep deprivation has been used to break hardier souls than you. Just give in. The baby has you surrounded!
Learning to survive sleep deprivation requires a single-minded selfishness capable of embarrassing Scarlet O'Hara. Forget about the housework, the dishes, the cooking, the cobwebs. Be rude to guests and family members. If the baby sleeps, find the nearest bed or sofa and nap. I was once caught napping in the furniture section of the local department store, with my son snoring on my chest.
If friends or family offer help, leap at them with tears of gratitude in your bloodshot eyes. Do not ask them to feed, diaper or rock the baby. Ask them to wash the kitchen floor or do the laundry. If they truly want to help, they'll do it. If not, send them home. If they want to coo, they can do it when the baby can coo back, say at about eight months old.
If you’re offered a gift of a baby nurse, take the money and get a maid instead. They're less expensive and more useful. Your hospital, pediatrician, mother and in-laws will tell you what to do for the baby. What you really need is someone to take care of you. You just had a Metroliner drive through your uterus. You're the one who needs to be pampered.
For the same cost as a baby nurse for a week, we hired a woman who came every afternoon for four weeks. She straightened the house. She did the laundry. She answered the phone. She cleaned the dishes piled up in the sink. She ran errands to get milk, diapers, a prescription, or a pizza.
Of course, this woman could talk a hole through a boulder. I learned about her husband's heart condition, her son's employment troubles, her flat feet and bad back. When my friends came to visit, she held court. They all left with quizzical lines on their foreheads and open mouths. No one saw the baby. No one got to talk to me. None of us knew what to do.
Then she began to advise me. Before she arrived I put on make-up to avoid hearing "what a poor pale thing" I was, followed by her discourse on iron-poor blood. I dressed in the colors she said complemented my coloring. I fixed my hair so it wouldn't hide my face. My own mother tiptoed around her.
When she finally stopped coming, it was bliss...for about twenty minutes. Then I realized I would have to choose between napping and the housework. I found a cool spot on the couch and passed out.
According to my husband's calculations, there's only 6,256 more sleepless nights before we are a childfree house again. If so, I surrender. I’ll go peaceably. Just put me in a nice padded cell with a comfortable mattress and no alarm clock.