Sleepy

I’ve vowed not to turn this into a blog about babies, so that has limited my subjects for the week. George and I went to the dog park once, we went to a party at a friend’s house, but other than that my life has been full of formula, spit up, poop, and trying to nap. So, here is my topic for this week: sleep.

Unlike my husband who used to wake up in our new house when the refrigerator used to turn on downstairs, I have usually been a good sleeper. Bedtime is a comforting ritual, with snuggly covers, soft PJs, and far away memories of lulabyes and covers tucked in tight. To me, one of the best times of the day is that moment when you first wake up, when the house is still quiet and the light soft from the window.

Having my sleep interrupted every night, several times, is definitely unsettling. It interferes with that sacred time when my body rejuvenates and I de-stress from life. Going to bed and knowing I cannot fully escape into sleep gives the nightly ritual a negative tinge.

Isn’t sleep a strange thing? Where exactly do we go when we sleep? And I think dreams are fascinating – the idea that our brains continue on elaborate fantasies while we sleep hints at all the untapped power we have in our minds.

I have to admit, though, that in the middle of the night when I give him his bottle and he falls asleep with his mouth hanging open, I take comfort in his sleep even though I am exhausted. He is just so peaceful. Watching a baby sleep – or even watching George sleep – shows exactly the kind of sleep we all need. Pure comfort. Innocence. Peace.

And now I apologize, because that’s just about as deep as I can go this morning. I got up three times during the night last night, and as soon as I finish typing I am going to try to take a nap with George before the baby wakes again.