Sleep is the enemy

Most people dread the first few weeks and often months of sleeplessness that come with the arrival of a newborn.

Me? I was looking forward to Sarah's arrival so that I could finally sleep. At best I was getting four hours a night these past few weeks. With my husband's work, travel and class schedule I had a few stretches of single parenting that left me wiped out and barely able to hold a coherent conversation.

(I'm not complaining; in these economic times I am more than grateful for his steady employment, his bosses who give him flexibility and his pure determination to obtain a post-graduate certification that will allow him to advance his career to a place of true financial stability. If we were to keep score, I'd insist he works harder than me... and he'd argue the same about me.)

But back to my original point about sleep. While so many of my friends struggled with nighttime newborn parenting, both Jonah and Rachie were overachievers. Between cosleeping and breastfeeding, we could log 15 hours in bed. It was my version of bliss. Simple, basic needs that I was confident I could meet.

(Socially, it's not something to brag about getting good sleep. In fact, its probably the best way to invoke dagger eyes from other moms.)

So last night, as I was staring at the clock for the umpteenth time, watching the numbers slowly flash by? All I could think about was the elusiveness of it all. The sleep that was not there.. and the baby that was not in my arms.