Gone sleepin’ . . .
Staff writer
Parent sleep is a beautiful thing. Not new-parent sleep, which involves some extreme sensitivity to the slightest whimper from a newborn that defies laws of biology and the effects of most over-the-counter sleep aids.
I’m talking the kind of sleep that sets in when your body has learned what sounds from your child indicate actual distress, and these become the only thing capable of waking you before your body is darn well ready to be awakened.
It’s the sleep that can begin to claim you even in the middle of reading “Green Eggs and Ham” for the 80bajillionth time to your child and it allows you to continue reading (or at least making words that sound rhymey and have rhythm) for a few minutes before your child catches on and pokes you in the eye yelling, “Mommy, wake up!”
It’s sleep that senses when your partner is “on duty” and in such cases will not allow you to be roused unless somebody who cannot dial 911 is bleeding from the head.
It’s sleep from which you can, I’m told, encourage your toddler to take her medicine while your spouse pins her to the couch, your soothing voice in the background reassuring her how proud you are of her for doing something she doesn’t want to do. Again, this particular aspect of parent sleep I have only heard of second-hand but it seems highly plausible.
Parent sleep, in our house, has even produced some of the most memorable accounts in our family lore.
Such as Monday night’s events, which I can neither confirm nor deny. I can only re-tell them as they were told to me.
Following a week or more of almost no sleep, I reclined on the couch to read my daughter a book after dinner, and then … well, I have no idea what happened after this.
When I awoke at around 8 p.m., my half-naked toddler was crawling on me and giggling as only a toddler who is getting away with a no-no can giggle. I’m sure it’s the giggle that woke me, not her knee in my stomach.
But I was quickly reclaimed by parent sleep and stayed that way until around 10 p.m. when I slowly surfaced.
I’m told absolutely zero effort was made to protect my slumber as I lay in the middle of the end-of-day crazy at our house. I’m told I was crawled on by dependants — both two-legged and four-legged — and that I missed an intense session of “I’mma getchoo” involving a great deal of squealing and running in circles around the living room.
I’m told I was poked, repositioned, and even carried on a couple of short conversations. I’m told I missed a tantrum and toys being chucked in my vicinity. I’m told I missed my 2-year-old running from room to room screaming “Michael!” in distress because she didn’t see her daddy sitting quietly in the living room.
I remember none of this. I rose refreshed and completely unencumbered by guilt for having abandoned my family for an evening. After all, I had no control — it was parent sleep. Parent sleep rules all.
See? Beautiful.