1) obsess over small details for non-urgent projects. Example: you might want to rearrange the rocks in your bonsai fountain, or carefully shine your tea kettle.

2) note that your feet are chilly: solve problem by putting them under blanket. In bed.

3) stare dejectedly at large pile of clutter, rather than, say, going through it looking for lost library item.

4) make a careful list of things to do, place it on dresser. Pick up laptop, write blog post about procrastination.

I was thinking just now about how Carla is getting pretty co-operative about things she used to be downright impossible about. Like teeth brushing, for example.

C has had a rough time in this life as far as dental health goes. I blame it all on the fact that when she had her first trouble with cavities, we were broke and had lost our good dental insurance. Having no money, we turned to our new insurance for referrals within their network. We ended up with Dr. Nightmare and followed up with severe emotional trauma followed by months of therapy and now, years later, I think we are still feeling the pinch. The fillings that Dr. Nightmare so clumsily blasted into her three year old mouth are now cracking and needing replacement.  Still lacking good dental insurance, but now having learned our lesson about going to the in network option, we now pay, um, through the teeth. Our new dentist is an angel, and worth every penny– but that doesn’t stop Carla from thinking hard about her teeth and how they got that way.

She still sometimes mentions Dr. Nightmare, enough that his name has become a household name with enough villainy to it to put him in the same camp as George W. Bush.  Annie agrees heartily, even though she’s never even met the evil dentist (nor Dubya, for that matter.)

When it’s time to brush her teeth, and to floss them, she opens her mouth up willingly for me; she lets me at them. I do the best that I can.  But I am waiting for the thoughts to click into place…. At what point might she turn on me and ask how come I didn’t take better care of her teeth in the first place?

Which I ask myself, too. Though I DID start brushing her teeth daily once she even had teeth. I did what was recommended of me, even when she was a rebellious two year old.  She also nursed a lot, up until she was weaned at age two and a half.

Here I am, FIVE YEARS LATER, wondering HOW COULD I LET MY CHILD GET CAVITIES? And then further make the mistake of letting some A-Hole Dentist butcher her up. I STILL ACHE about this. I still doubt my abilities to protect her. To brush her teeth well enough.

And not just teeth, either. There’s the million and one things a mom’s supposed to do. What if I fail at another thing, and another? She’s on antibiotics this week as a preventative against the rare and unlikely complication of rheumatic fever as a result of an untreated strep infection.  We’ve missed some doses, and she knows this.

She stares hard at me and asks, shouldn’t she just take the missed dose together with her next one? I know that’s not how you’re supposed to deal with missed doses and I tell her so. The wheels in her mind are turning and turning, though.  I think she is disappointed in me– if taking medicine is important then how could I have missed giving her a dose?

Well, how could I?

Can someone toss me a rope down here, cuz I think I need something to grab onto. I wonder how I managed to mess up her teeth. What if she gets rheumatic fever. What if I don’t tell her about STD’s soon enough. What if I miss her prom. What if. What. if. What. What. What. If. If. If.

What if I to bed now and catch up on some sleep? Clearly, I am losing my mind.

Or, more likely, it was already gone. (see previous post).

PS… it turns out my first share of veggies will come next monday; and fruit in about three weeks or so. Will keep you posted.

I have been thinking a lot about my brother and about my sister.

Those who’ve been following my story know that I have an uneasy relationship with my brother, whom I grew up with, and a brand-new unknown relationship with my half sister, whom I have never met.

Prior to talking with my sister on the phone, and exchanging some email and photos, I never really realized how sad it is that my brother and I are not close. One visitor to my blog pointed out that I should consider my relationship with my sister in light of my relationship with my brother (or something like that.) This made my whole perspective shift dramatically: I had not thought to consider the two of them as “my siblings” before. In other words, I had drawn truly no connections there.

Starting to mull things over, I find it really disconcerting to think of how much I’ve lost since childhood. My half sister is someone I simply never had access to; a strange decision born of the times in which she lived as a young child. Those were the days when “doing what’s best” meant avoid complex family configurations like bio dads and step families. So I don’t count her as a loss, so much as an opportunity for connection that was denied.

But to really consider what I’ve lost since childhood, I could make you a sad long list. My brother and I were very close at the time he left for college.  His issues with depression came to light as a teenager, and continue to this day. As his younger sister, a full five years behind him, I was not in any reasonable position to help him, but I knew that he needed help. I thought (as twelve year olds, and other people, tend to do) that by loving my brother as much as I did, that I could heal him of whatever sadness or anger he was feeling.  My clueless parents, at a loss as to how to help him either, thought that sending his little sister in to “talk with him” when he was feeling suicidal was a good way to help him feel better, since he wouldn’t talk to them at all.

In spite of his emotional troubles, he was able to use his smarts to finish high school, and get into college.  Off he went, and leaving me behind of course, and soon little sister was easily replaced by college pals, girlfriends, marijuana and jazz. We lost touch, and I supposed he no longer needed a little sister to love him, or bake him apple pies when he came home to visit, or to follow him around and bother him when he was showing his visiting college girlfriends around the town.

I was also quite busy by then, learning how to be a holy terror teenager myself, as my parents picked that time to decide to split up in the most agonizing ways they could think of, with my dad slinking off to sleep somewhere other than my parents’ room. First, he colonized my brother’s empty bedroom, then trudged downstairs to the basement guest room. Finally, as my grandparents died, he crossed the street to live in their house “in order to fix it up and clean it out.”

And so it was that within the course of a few years, I lost my brother (to college – 1985), my parents (to their self-absorbed separation / divorce – begun in 1986 and finalized in 1992), and my grandparents (died in 1988, and 1989).  Plus, my best friend’s family moved to Germany (1987). I really cried when she told me they were moving away, it seemed so unfair.

Fast forward to now. My dad’s health is less than stellar. My mom drives me insane. I speak to my brother about twice a year. And I want to connect with my half sister — Why?

I don’t really know what I expected to gain from this. Did I track her down for my father’s benefit, or mine? If I want so much to connect with family, why am I also so estranged from the ones that I actually know?

I spoke to my brother for the first time this year on Easter. His wife is apparently recovering from major surgery,  and their family is doing their best to adjust to life in which the mom of the house is significantly disabled (temporarily – it is hoped she’ll be able to recover fully within 6 months or so). I feel very sad for my nieces and nephew, and for my brother, that life is so difficult for them right now.

I find myself thinking, “What can I do? What should I do? How can I help my brother?” It’s a familiar and painful feeling. I think I’ll send them a care package, at least. In the long run, I can’t help him, really — his life is what it is. He and I are very different and his choices have molded him so extremely.  We grew up together, but then, apart.

Did you ever see the Muppet movie in which Gonzo is contacted by his alien relatives and he finds out that he’s not really alone like he thought he was? I think my hopes concerning my sister were something like that. That I would find this long lost sister and learn that there’s a reasonable, creative, kind and interesting person in my family who is something like me.

Is that so much to ask?

I have not been writing very much lately. It’s not for lack of thinking about it, though. I have a lot of different things I’d like to write about, but my mind is feeling scrambled.

I did get back on my meds, which is of course a very good thing: but I think I am not quite myself yet. It’s funny how at one time I really felt opposed to taking any anti-depressants, for fear they would erase that part of me which is me. It could not have been farther from the truth: they actually just take away that part of me that is NOT me, the depression that I mistook for a part of myself.

Have you ever had to deal with someone who isn’t rational? (well, who hasn’t??) Being depressed (for me) is like dealing with an annoying irrational person all the time, one you can’t get away from, and it’s yourself. Yeah, annoying as hell. Plus, I get extremely irritable. I mean, really anything at all can make me feel annoyed (including myself).

Things that are usually cute or sweet: a hug from a child, a caress from D, a cute little trick that a child wants to do to show off. Instead of reacting in a pleased and friendly way, my internal irritation is extreme. Get off of me, I think. Go away. Stop it.

Because I know these reactions are NOT what’s expected of me, and I don’t even like myself for reacting that way, I try to cover them up, but really I doubt that I fool anyone.

I hate depression. It’s a lot better than say, cancer, or schizophrenia, of course. But it is its own kind of hell, and it feels like it will always be there, lurking.

Right now, though, I am not terribly depressed, but maybe a little under the weather. I want so much for it to be warm, sunny, and I want to be out in the garden, amending the soil, building some new plant beds, checking on my tulips and other bulb plants. Instead it’s raining, and I have been spending way too much time on the computer (and this blog post might just be one of the most productive moments of all the computer time I have spent.).

This wasn’t the blog post I thought would arise from my title “Spring Break Musings.” What I thought I’d write about would be the baby quilt I’d like to make, the plants I would plant if I’d gotten the new beds made, the program I want to create for the summer camp I’ll apparently be running. Instead, here I am nattering on and on about depression.

A nap might just be the ticket, but I have to go to my mother-in-law’s house and tinker around with her dead PC. Joy, rapture, bliss. Then again, maybe we can get dinner there, which would cheer me up, as well as getting out of the house.

Another good remedy: shower. Oh the brilliant ideas that arise when we blog!

What a month this has been! I’ve blogged quite a bit less than usual, but have lived quite a big more than usual.

Though I should be doing other things, I feel the need to take a little time to process, especially since this coming weekend promises to be quite busy.

I am really delighted with my new job. I am still trying to settle into a comfortable rhythm of each day, balancing my “free time” (Ha!) with my preparation time for the job. I have to figure out a way to be more efficient, because each week I seem to spend most of the mornings getting some portion of either snack or materials ready for the afternoon. Reminder to self: this is a half time job, not a full time one.  You can’t be spending all morning prepping for the afternoon and still expect to keep your business running as well.

In spite of my sense of frustration with my own continual squandering of time, I am very happy with the job itself. I have received so many kudos from parents and teachers about how good a job I am doing, that I have completely lost count. The initiatives that I have put into motion seem to be well received, and the only complaints I’ve had so far are from kids who want to play their hand-held video games or watch movies.  I’ve decided to limit the video games to one half hour period during the first choice time of the after school program.  This means that some of these cute little addicts are at times seriously jonesing for their games. Too bad! We have other things to do!

Some of the older kids really crave movie watching. I do not have movies on my schedule for the after school program at all. When I do, it will be something short — 30-45 minutes — rather than a full length feature film, and I will be choosing the movie in advance. The no-movie policy that we had this past wednesday caused quite a bit of whining, but we made it through somehow.  The fort we built out of newspapers and fabric swatches was more fun than a movie, as was bouncing on the trampoline. Plus the popsicle sticks and puffball crafts were really creative and interesting. On different days, we have made muffins, grilled cheese, and hummus. We have planted seeds in planters, begun planning a quilt project, and did magnet experiments. “You can watch movies at home; we have so much to do here without movies distracting us,” I told them. Mean teacher!

I also am trying to get a period of QUIET to happen. As a parent of a kid who stays in my own program, I’m a little frustrated with how hard it is to get her to do her homework. By the time we get home from after school, she’s really tired, and the next morning there is never quite enough time for homework. It’s a good thing her teacher is so understanding. But I wonder what other parents feel about getting kids to use some of their afterschool time to do homework. I have to think about how to accomplish this– it is not easy to manage a diverse group of kids AND have them be quiet enough for a handful of kids to sit and do homework. Hmmmm……

On the home front, we all seem to be adjusting well to live with Cammy. She is a treasure, really she is! I feel so lucky to have her helping me, it’s just such a relief. As time goes on, I am sure I will find more ways to help her, too. I love being able to help people– and when it works in such a way that it helps me too, well, it seems almost too good to be true. It’s like in the olden days, when extended families lived together and helped one another along. There is a lot of good in that kind of system.

It took me a while to figure how to introduce Cammy to others. “She’s my husband’s first cousin who moved here from Florida” is kind of wordy. “She’s our new nanny” is kind of snotty sounding and not really that honest, since she means so much more to me than that.  But now I have figured out what I will say when I next introduce her: “This is Cammy, she’s part of my family, and lives with us now.”

This month was probably the nicest February I’ve had in a long time. I usually just can’t wait to escape from February.  We even got to have a snow day — one of those lovely surprise snow days that are just snowy enough for good fun, but not so snowy that you actually need to dig the car out. I didn’t even touch a shovel, as I knew it would warm up the next day and clear the walks for us. Cammy got to sled for the first time in her life! Yay! Fun!

Even  though it was quite a good month, I am much looking ahead to spring.  Welcome, March.  I am waiting to see my snow follies pushing up through the earth.

It is hard to wait for the results of anything important, isn’t it? Elections, primaries, pregnancy tests, adoption referrals, job interviews…. ( my recent visitor from Option Adoption will agree, as will the expectant mom over at The Creamery–  two interesting blogs I’ve just started following.) I don’t even know when the staff will decide on who the next American Idol After School Teacher will be.
So let’s just talk about my recent visit to Manatee Park, shall we?

I was so lucky to have these two to assist me at all times. 

My girls and I saw so many manatees, and so close up. We rented a double kayak, and with Carla in the seat behind me, and Annie sitting in front of me, I paddled us around the Orange River somehow managing to steer the kayak, not capsize, and also take a bunch of pictures.

The red and black mangroves are a fascinating part of the ecosystem. 

Though manatees are very hard to photograph, I managed to capture a few bits and pieces. It was a beautiful experience.

Above: Can you spot the manatee’s nose poking up just to the side of the kayak?

And here’s the tail, just under our kayak. Curious little thing! 

I captured this tail flapping up out of the water using the zoom lens. 

While we were at the park, I was able to sit and listen to a park employee discuss facts about manatees, their habits and their ecosystem.  Manatees, also called sea cows, eat lots of different kinds of underwater grasses.  Like cows on the land, they have a specialized digestive system that is designed to break down the grasses.  Their digestive system works by employing a particular bacteria that can only break down the grasses at 68 degrees farenheit or warmer; if the manatee is in water that is colder than that, it will starve, even if its rumen is full of grass. These creatures have truly specific habitat requirements.

Annie, kickin’ back and enjoying the ride. 

I have been thinking a lot about cows and a farm’s ecosystem, because I’m still working my way through Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma. 

There are quite a few words devoted to describing a way of farming that is sometimes known as “grass farming.”  Polyface Farm is described in detail as an example of this.  The grass takes in energy from the sun, and that is what fuels this kind of farm — grass which is then the food for the cows.  Chickens are the cleanup crew for the cows, as they wander the cow patty-studded grass eating up bugs that would otherwise be harmful.  The chickens leave just enough poop on the grasses to help fertilize the grass. The cows, who graze the grass in a careful pattern that does not chew it down so far that the grass dies, actually HELP the grass be healthy rather than harm it.

Photo credit: my very own seven year old. Thanks, C! 

There’s much more to the this farm’s careful use of the land, and there are many more animals that contribute to the farm’s fertility.  What kept coming back to my mind as I considered the graceful sea cows was how the grass farmers are trying to mimic nature and its cycles.  I thought about this as I listened to the naturalist speak of the sea cows and how they have no natural predators, and how man was the their only threat to survival. Nature doesn’t just place an animal into a system without making it pay its way.

Cute little lizards are all over the place in Florida. 

I was certain that the sea cows must be serving some purpose there in the waters.  They are mowing the sea grass, keeping it healthy. But if humans continue to limit their habitat, I imagine that the manatees are in danger of over-grazing the grasses that they need to survive on.  In fact, much of the rivers where the manatee would graze no longer have healthy grasses for the manatee to enjoy, even as watercraft make those waters perilous for these gentle and slow mammals of the sea.

Humans have also messed up farmlands, using energy from fossil fuels to buy fertility and then use it up at a rate much faster than can be replenished.  Even natural grasslands get overgrazed and turned into deadlands.

Who are our natural predators? I think it’s becoming increasingly clear that we share something in common with the manatee: our biggest enemy is mankind, ourselves as we seem to be making our own habitat increasingly unsustainable. This makes me unbelievably sad.

I should really be getting to the backlog of bookkeeping and billing that I need to accomplish in order to keep my business afloat.

I am distracted, though, because I have a job interview today at 1:30 PM.

This will be the third time I have applied for this same position: being the teacher and director of an after school program at my daughter’s school.  This time, I am applying for the job just as a temporary position, filling in for the current teacher’s maternity leave.  I am quite pre-occupied thinking about it.

The job would cut into my time with just my kids, though I’d (theoretically) still be with them. Actually the staff at the school don’t want me to have my younger child with me at all, were I to take this job. I see this as an opportunity for negotiation and compromise, though they don’t. I’ve asked them to set aside this issue for now, and to please just consider me for the job on the basis of my strengths, experience and skills, rather than the fact that I have a nearly-five year old child and would have to figure out a way to arrange for her care.

Many of my regular readers are probably already aware that mothers in the workplace are typically paid less than women who do not have children, who in turn are paid less than men. Single mothers tend to be paid even less.  This is shocking to my ears, though I’ve heard it before more than once.   The facts have been  documented.

In the job I’m interviewing for, however, unfair pay is not a problem. I know that they will pay the same, no matter which person is hired for the  job. However, I sense a kind of unfairness permeating even into this very liberal school, coming from our mainstream culture about work.

I believe that the American work ethic suggests that “Work is not for doing with your children.” and “Children are not allowed in the workplace.”  I think there are very valid reasons why in many workplaces this is a good rule.  For example, I myself generally do my work when the kids are elsewhere, because it requires me to focus and the children distract me from my work.  I don’t like to ignore my kids, so when I’m working I make sure they are well cared for and happy — elsewhere.

Workplaces can also be dangerous or inappropriate for children.  Nobody wants a toddler messing with a shredder, or a child sitting bored with nothing to do.  A child would be a distraction to the parent in an office environment where phonecalls and meetings need to be taken seriously and without little voices interrupting.

However, these are all non-issues in the job that I’m considering. As the after school teacher, I’d be the teacher for a mixed age group of kids, ages ranging from 5 years old to about 13 years. The ground tends to be on the younger side, because so many of the older kids begin to go home after school around age 10 and up.

Adding one nearly-five-year-old to a mixed group of kids does not make the job of managing that group any different. I do agree that SOME kids at that age may make their mothers miserable in a group setting.  I already  help once a week with this same group of kids, taking “Annie” along with me.  She has friends in the group, and plays with them. So far, I’ve hardly needed to speak two words to her each time I’ve been working with the group because she fits in so well. She plays with her sister and with some of the younger kids, and has a great time.

I have a great time, too. I enjoy getting to know the  kids and see how they interact.  At no point did I feel like I was torn between caring for my own children and attending to the group. When I’m volunteering there, my children are simply a part of the group, and I interact with all of the kids as needed.

My opinion about caring for groups of children is that if you provide an appropriate environment, then children will exhibit the behaviors you’d want: playing, talking, interacting, and remaining generally happy.  Make sure there’s a good and timely snack, a variety of activities that interest the kids in question, and a general routine that is comfortable for the group,  and the result should be a rewarding and enjoyable group experience.

This group would vary each day in size, just depending on which kids happen to be left to remain in the program so from day to day, so the teacher has a bit of a challenge. Namely, the teacher does not know how many kids will be in the program each day. Nor does the teacher know for sure the ages of all the kids who will be present on any given day.

Ideally, kids can partner up with friends and enjoy social time together; of course sometimes kids fight anyway, in spite of the good classroom management.  At a small school like this, though, everyone knows everyone else, even across grades.  Getting along in mixed age groups is not only common, but in fact, is something that is a specific goal of the school.

My point in discussing all of this is to a) clear my mind before the interview and b) suggest that though there are jobs where it would be wrong to bring your child along, this is not one of them. My younger daughter’s needs would be attended to in this group setting, as would the needs of my older daughter, and I would still be able to do the job of caring for the group even as a I care for my own children as a part of that group.

But I also have to consider the effect that getting a job has on my family in general.

Would it be hard on my family?  I think that at first, it would be an adjustment.  Our afternoon routines would change, and we’d have to get used to that. Dinnertime would be a greater challenge for me, as the program does go all the way to 6:00 PM.  In order to get my kids fed by their usual dinner time (say, 6:30 at the latest) I would have to be very organized about food, and have something ready in advance to heat up once we get home.

It’s funny how having more constraints on your time can sometimes lead to better organization. I’m imagining that taking on this job might just help me a great deal with my nightly What’s-For-Dinner anxiety.

Would it be hard on my business? Again, the challenge is in getting organized.  I would not want to have to deal with customer support issues during my after-school job.  I generally don’t have a lot of returning phone calls to make during those hours and already carefully limit what calls I make when I am with my children.  Therefore, I do not think there would be too much stress on me as a result of being busy with this new job.  After all, I would still have my mornings free to attend to my freelance work and my business duties.

All in all, I think I am ready to take on this interview and I am ready to take on this job. I am qualified for the job, and I am enthusiastic about the work. I have thought about all the ways that taking on a job like this will impact my family and I am still hoping that they will want to hire me.

It’s funny, but I am really not thinking about the pay I’ll receive should I get this job. I don’t even know or care how much the pay is.  I am applying because I have a strong desire to do this kind of work. I am applying because I care about kids, and about this school.  I am applying because it has always been my dream to work with kids.

In spite of my degree in psych (concentration on developmental psych), and my master’s of education (psych studies in edu.), I have not officially worked with children. Instead, I have allowed my computer skills (and their accompanying golden handcuffs) to steer my career.  There have been times when what I felt that I needed was a good steady paycheck. Thanks to Drob’s Job, and his incredibly industrious nature, I do not feel under any pressure to make a lot of money.

So… here I am, Unnamed School, HIRE ME, YOU FOOLS! And don’t worry about the kid. She’s easy — it’s her momma you have to watch out for.

Dad:  “You got a couple of mashugina* kids there…”

Me: “I do not!!!”

I do believe he was kidding around.

* And since when does my dad speak yiddish? Oh yeah, since always.  But I grew up in an Italian / English speaking family, so I grew up thinking Mashugina was an Italian word.

Oy Vey!

From my notes on the plane:

First part of the journey.  We’re loaded into our very full flight, the girls and I, comfortably sitting together. They have their little notebooks (C has labeled hers, My Secrit Diary!!) and are happily drawing pictures. I think Clara has the skills to be an excellent illustrator.  Maybe I should have her illustrate my children’s book for me. She does not take direction very willingly though. If I ask her to draw something, she may or may not comply. And she’s not that into second drafts. This could make it difficult for me, control freak that I am.

They are doing the safety information, blah blah blah, so probably I have to put this away soon. In fact, they have already made me lose my train of thought, so I am going to stow this laptop properly at this time.

Now I’m writing this as my Dad and I sit in his single wide, the TV on, me typing this, him talking about his new AC / heater unit. He’s talking about the heat because we’ve a two day cool snap here. 57 degrees outside — here in the living room it’s about 65 — and he’s cold! But he’s doing well, healthwise. His pacemaker seems to be doing its job well, and so he’s got his breath back, and his energy is returning.

I think there are number of challenges ahead for me this week. For one thing, I never watch TV – it’s like torture for me.  Plus, there’s something so WRONG about having to watch Vi@gra commercials in the company of one’s FATHER.  “Ask you doctor is it’s safe for you to have sex…” advised the helpful Viva V guy.  Bleah!  Then 5 minutes later, it’s Ci@lis. Oh joy.

Meanwhile, my eyes are still bothering me, very red but not as swollen. I saw the doctor the day before — did I blog about that already? Well anyway, she said the standard of care for pinkeye is to let it run its course; it’s usually viral, and not bacterial; and furthermore I looked like I was having an adverse / allergic reaction to the antibiotic eye drops that I’d self-prescribed — leftovers from A’s pinkeye from two weeks ago.  So duh on me for sticking Rx eyedrops in my eyes without first talking to a doctor.  I feel like scratching my eyes out. The doc did give me a prescription for an oral antibiotic — even though she said already that the standard of care was to not treat this! So unless I start feeling SICK, I’m just going to hold onto the meds.

A while back, I blogged about my joy that C had finally grown out of wetting the bed. I guess I was too quick to jump to that conclusion. The last three weeks — or more — she’s been wetting EVERY NIGHT.  And refuses to go back to pull ups. At home this amounts to a laundry problem, but not much worse than that, since her bed is lined with a vinyl sheet.

Now we are here– and in tight quarters. She, A and I are sharing my dad’s bed while he takes the couch bed. C didn’t want to fall asleep — poor thing. She  is so worried that she will wet the bed. Frankly, I’m concerned too. Tonight I’ll take her to the bathroom to see if I can get her to empty her bladder without even waking her.  Then I’ll put a towel under her, and hope for the best. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to talk her into wearing a pull up. Just in case and so she doesn’t have to worry about it.

That’s all for now. I’ll try to write more each day of my trip.

I have been thinking a lot about sleep lately. In part this is because I had so much time to consider it these last couple nights, lying awake in bed, when I should have been actually sleeping rather than just thinking about it*. Another reason is my incessant obsession with reading baby blogs, and all these moms with adorable little babies seem to be, in general, not getting enough sleep.  (Go figure.)

I remember well the sleeplessness of early motherhood. It was an other-worldly experience, being so acquainted with the many hours of the night. For my first baby, I was very vigilant with making sure she was a) still breathing  and b) fed as often as she wanted to.  Thus, a peep from her, and there were the feedings: the 1:10 AM, nurse for 20 minutes, watch her sleeping in awe, slump off to sleep, and then… by  3 AM, doing it all again. Then the murky 4:33 AM when you really, really feel there is no justice and sleep seems like a strange thing to try to do so many times in one night. By 6 AM, daylight would creep uninvited into my room, making me bitter and annoyed. Go away. I am trying to sleep. Again.

On the other hand, I also remember the joy of the nap with a baby and cats. And a book nearby at all times. Oh well, can’t get up, I’ve got a baby to nurse, a cat I can’t disturb, and I’m also not yet done my chapter. Read and nurse, and doze, and pet the cat. (”Dear, just leave that whole pie right there by the bed. And that water bottle… I’m gonna need it…”)

Now-a-days I’ve still got parenthood-related sleep complications. I often fall asleep in the bed with my 4 year old, soothing her down to rest and making sure she’s cozy and comfortable. There are times when I wake in her room with the sun, having never returned to the big bed and the arms of my mate.

There are also nights where I lie awake thinking and thinking and Not Sleeping; where thoughts intrude on the restful night. There are no babies crying, or requiring nursing. No leaky diapers (or breasts) to soil my sheets. Just tension and worry, or an inability to fall asleep for No Particular Reason. By comparison, those multiple feeding  nights were softly blissful, even while making me weary as heck. There was a miracle, a reason, a rationale for feeling so tired the next day. It is a badge of pride, that kind of sleep deprivation.

I remember calling into a radio show at some point when my babe was young; it was a bone-headed MD guest on some local talk program, droning on and on about how mothers shouldn’t have to sacrifice their sleep, that it would be better to just get someone else to feed the baby so they can have a full night’s sleep. This was so entirely counter to both my own good sense about how to care for a baby, and how to survive parenthood, that I called in. I was put on the air. I asked if there were any studies to show how sleep needs change during early motherhood? Because the truth was, aside from a handful of very difficult nights, I was finding that I felt well rested in spite of frequent wakings. I felt sure there must be some biological change that the human mind can manage in order to survive with less sleep, in order to properly care for our young. The dumb MD had no clue, and no answer, (no surprise there), so I stick with my hypothesis: humans need to do stuff at night to care for their young — we may not always like missing sleep, but we can adapt it.

The trouble is, getting back into some new kind of sleep groove seems tough.  I once had a co-worker who told me that he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since the birth of his first child.  At the time, his youngest was 5 years old; the older was 11. That’s eleven years of sleep disturbance and apparently not much hope in sight!

For a really fun and interesting insight into sleep research and the value and purpose of sleep, I highly recommend that you listen to this episode of Radio Lab (#302). Radio Lab is a little bit like The American Life only its focus is science, and it’s more hip, and more upbeat.

* I started this post months ago… actually this week, I’m not having trouble sleeping at all. Trouble waking, yes, but trouble sleeping, no. Bleh.