Emily did not sleep easily last night. It was the third or fourth night in a row we’d had trouble getting her down. During such stretches, it’s hard to remember when things were ever different. Those kinds of evenings are so taxing on Michelle and I – especially when they happen consecutively – because we’re no longer battling the mere difficulty of the evening itself, but also the prospect that things won’t get any better the next night, or the night after that. Indeed, it might seem an odd thing to those not parents, but some of our most despairing moments as a couple have come on nights when we can’t get our kids to sleep.
Last night ranked somewhere in the top 5. We had Jared in bed just after 8 p.m.. Emily had not slept much all day, and been up until midnight the night before. This usually means Michelle hasn’t had any time to herself in the day. Such was the case yesterday.
We were foolishly optimistic: we had great hopes that she would go down before 9 p.m.. As it happened, though, those hopes only made the evening more difficult. Emily feigned sleep several times after nursing, but as soon as her back touched the crib she fussed and demanded our attention. We don’t know any better but to give it to her when she asks, so the waiting and the watching and the walking continued.
With each failed attempt at putting her down, our frustrations grew. I felt uncharacteristically short tempered as well, mostly because I’d set my heart set on an early bed time. Near 10 p.m. Michelle put her down again, and she took to it. We were tired enough by then that I almost immediately made my way to bed, while Michelle at last wanted to work on things she’d been hoping to get to all day.
A few moments into my evening rest, though, Emily began to fuss (her crib is in our room). I knew it was over. Michelle wasn’t of the disposition to willingly take her again all by herself, so I got up and somewhat despairingly took Emily back out into the living room as she screamed.
Emily stopped screaming, and looked around the living room and kitchen with expectant delight that there was still some nightlife. She watched an episode of Meerkat Manor with us, while I alternated positions with her, as well as back pats and back rubs, or gentle bouncing from couch positions (and standing). She gave no signs of being tired. She was enjoying things too much.
Near midnight we thought we had her down again, and we felt sure that nothing more could be required of us that evening – we didn’t think we could bear it any longer. As Michelle took Emily into the bedroom to lay down with her, though, I took a few moments to write in my journal reflecting on the experience. It had been a long, long night in the latest of a series of long nights, but it was seemingly over. The reflection spurred by the journal writing made me more submissive as I thought on things, and I wished I hadn’t been so short tempered and anxious in the hours before. I then made my way to sleep for the evening.
As I drifted to sleep, I thought on how lucky I must be that my greatest complaint was that my daughter would not sleep when I wanted her to. I thought on those whose trials dwarf the one I’d faced that evening, and I felt contrite. I suspected some would give most anything to experience what I’d been “suffering” through. That pleasant sense of self-reproach seemed like a good thought to end the evening on.
But my evening was not over.
Whether due to sickness or a more sinister motive, Emily was not ready for sleep. Her cry – after what was likely the fourth feigned attempt at sleep that evening – seemed almost unbelievable. The sound made my heart sink. It was more than Michelle could bear. It probably would’ve been more than I could’ve borne as well had I not had the reflective moments of journal writing minutes before. But I had had those few moments, and that made all the difference.
C.S. Lewis once mentioned (and I paraphrase) that we can either grip the dentist’s chair tightly, or rest our hands calmly on our lap – either way the drill drills on. I got up from my bed wearily, but more willing to figuratively let my hands rest in my lap as the drill drilled on. Tired and haggard as I was, I picked up my fussing little girl, left the bedroom for Michelle to rest in peace, strapped my daughter in her car seat, and took her for a drive through the finer parts of Irvine (and those with the least stop lights – Emily hates stop lights). She fussed for a long while, but I knew I could and would outlast her. In fact I think I even said as much to her at one point, and she got the message not long after.
Just after 1 a.m. we rolled back into our parking space. I brought my sleeping daughter into the bedroom and left her strapped in the car seat. I was too tired at that point to think where I’d find energy to face the next morning, but went to bed thinking that if more was required of me, I was ready. Ironically, that's when my evening ended.
Tonight, she fell asleep at 9 p.m.
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