The science of sleep, according to a new mother

I promised myself I would do this. And there’s nothing more that I hate than promising myself I’ll do something and then backing out. Part of my overachieving nature, guess. But the allure of going back to sleep is pretty tempting right about now. It’s 7:20 a.m. and I said I would write after I fed Julian for the first time today. It’s not really that early, I know, but I worked last night and didn’t make it to bed until 1 a.m. or so and I still have that need in me for as many hours of sleep as possible. It reveals my youth, I guess. It may be covert laziness.

What I wanted to do was shed some light on the night of a nursing mother. Everyone groans and groans myself included, when I tell them about waking up to feed Julian every night. Well, now, it’s waking up every morning. He stopped getting up when it was still dark maybe a few months ago. Now, we put him down around 7 or 8 and he’s up around 6 or so for a first feeding, then again around 8 or 9, when I still am very interested in being back asleep. With the exception of this morning (I can hear him cooing in the bedroom)), he usually falls right back asleep after the first feeding, as do I. And when he awakes just a few hours later, he’s pretty ready to be up for the day, but I’m still clinging to my last few precious minutes of sleep. The second feeding is by far the hardest, just ask Ian.

He’s the one who usually hears Julian up that time. I think we both stick our heads under the pillows and hope he goes back to sleep. Wishful thinking because I don’t think he’s ever done that. Frustrated at his interrupted sleep, Ian will get up, bring him to me and I’ll feed him again. But, for Ian, the seal’s busted this time around and unlike the first feeding, he can’t sleep through this one. It’s either head for the couch or the coffee maker.

But I stay in there with Julian, trying to sleep when he’s eating and feign sleep when grabbing his toes and looking around after he’s done. Yes, I even put a pillow on the other side of him and then turn by back to him to try to catch a few more minutes, even seconds, of shut-eye. But his charm avails. He’s usually the happiest in the mornings. Smiling at nothing, or everything, depending how you see it. He’s so happy when he sees you, too. I think he first started recognizing us around 2 months or so, nature’s crafty way of keeping parents in the game. It’s hard to grumble at a kid who’s poop has leaked through to the bottom sheet (in his bed or ours) when he looks at your with twinkling eyes and a wide, open grin when your gaze meets his. It’s the same with the waking-up-to feed-him thing. Yeah, it’s a pain and I would love a break from it, but it’s worth it. Even if we weren’t breastfeeding, we’d still have to get up to feed him. 

And besides, we chose to do this. We could have had it another way. I’m glad we don’t. He can wake me anytime.
postscript: I originally posted this blog with 'sunday' as the day. Until just a few minutes ago, I thought it was. Motherhood does make you loopy.

post postscript: I'm not sure many of you realize my love of the New York Times. Often scorned by those in the journalism world for being pretentious, I find it full of fascinating, supremely relevant and intruging things. Including, today, a wonderful tribute to Willie and, of course, another person's take on love.