I’ve still got my spidey senses!
I love to sleep. I don’t do nearly enough of it, but when I do, I do it with gusto. I wish I could find a job that required me to sleep. I would eat sleep if I could, I even imagine it would be light and fluffy like a cloud (note – post may have been written in a sleep-deprived state).
For the first year of her life I was V’s primary caregiver, on call 24-hours a day. Once we stopped co-sleeping, the slightest sniff, sneeze or whimper brought me instantly awake and to her crib in a flash. Hubby was headed to the office every day and needed all the sleep he could get. For the most part he slept right through our late-night antics. I’m not looking for a medal, just setting the scene.
Just before V was 13 months old I went back to work and hubby started his stay at home stint. His shift lasted 8 months and the roll reversal was immediate and so far, permanent. I was now the one
snoring snoozing through the night while he was up with the slightest sound. V got better at sleeping through the night and hubby continued to be on call even when he returned to work. I would wake up to an empty bed, or V snuggled up beside me with no idea how she got there. Hubby would have tales of being up with her throughout the night, until he’d either go sleep with her on the couch or let her snuggle with the zonked out mommy. Truth be told, just last week he was called out to one of his sites at 1am and I had no idea he’d ever left. Good thing V didn’t need anything!
I thought I’d lost the skill, that I no longer had my night ears on, and that they were in fact deaf. But that was needless worry. All it takes to drag me to wakefulness is the click of a geriatric dog’s nails on the hardwood outside our room. Our dogs are old, so they don’t generally roam around the house much. The one that most often visits in the night is also slightly blind. She’s not walking around to be friendly, she is either thirsty, hot or has to visit the yard. That single click of her nails will bring me out of bed in a single leap and to the back door before she can get her lame end turned. (I’m not being mean, she’s losing strength in her backside, another reason for the urgency.) So frantic are my flailings that she will often find herself down the stairs and out the door just because her water dish is dry. She really must think I’m nuts and I’m sure she only puts up with me because I have the thumbs required to open the treat container.
No one mention this gap in the mommy-radar to teenaged V as I’m already confident that she will be able to disable her dad’s GPS tracking, avoid the IR cameras and circumvent the house and perimeter alarms, but I think as long as she doesn’t wake the dogs while she’s sneaking back in, her ol’mom will never know how late she really was.