Involuntary Ascetism Ends

My last post marked a local low point in the experience of motherhood. I asked my husband to come home from work early that day; I was so fatigued that I feared dropping the baby. I would look down at him and not really "see" him properly.

My very wise husband suggested I go to bed with the baby that night. Normally, after the little guy goes to sleep, I stay up for a couple hours and do yoga, or enjoy some grown-up company with my husband. The baby sometimes sleeps for 5 or 6 hours, but during that time I'm awake, trying to be an adult. Bedtime is at 7pm so I can have some time to relate to the man I married. But I wasn't much fun to be around anyway. And so I went to bed that night at 8pm.

The baby slept for six hours, and I did too. I awoke restored in every possible way.

My lips were red again. The world was once again full of promise and a hint of magic. My child was beautiful and adorable, my husband interesting and kind.

I heard once, second hand, about a prominent Buddhist teacher and monk who didn't lie down to sleep for a year, or maybe three years. When asked what it was like, he said, "I was just really grumpy during that time." It's hard to be graceful, or happy, or to meditate comfortably, when you are sleep deprived.

I realized, after my rest: it had been ten weeks since I'd slept more than three hours at a stretch. Of course I was miserable.

Last night, I slept again. For a five hour stretch. I felt so good when I woke up that I went to the hospital to take care of a long-delayed blood draw. Two weeks ago, I could not have imagined fasting for twelve hours, breastfeeding, and then hiking over to have blood drained out of me, all before 9 a.m. This morning, I did it and I was fine.

And so the sun shines, the trees blow in the wind, the road crew cuts into the pavement outside our apartment. Indoors, classical music plays, the baby grunts and babbles and reaches a developmental milestone: grasping and waving an object around. It's a good day. Gotta sleep more often!