Sleepless Functionality

My girlfriend Jess T. is an Olympic sleeper.  Representing the United States, she takes home Gold.  With her kids in bed by 8:30 p.m., I'll often receive an 8:45 p.m. "long day, heading to bed, chat in the morning" phone call. Admirable discipline or primal necessity?  Both.  Jess always  napped, when she had one son in elementary school and another at nursery school until 1:30 p.m. .  Often, she logged 14 hours of sleep in a 24-hour period.  She is a rare breed of mom. I lack her sleep skill.

It wasn’t always that way. In college I was different. Late nights, late mornings, naps dotting the day – a blissful quality of life.  My early 20's were marked by hard working, hard partying, hard dating and hard, heavy sleeping. Hit the pillow – out cold.  On the sixth day of my 29th year, a massive sleep heist went down and my stolen hours of sleep would never be recovered.  I gave birth to my first child and haven’t slept properly since, unlike my husband Todd, who became, naturally, an even better sleeper.

For me, the addition of a child led to the disappearance of:  sleeping through a creaky noise.  Sleeping through a full bladder.  Sleeping after rolling over.  Sleeping because my mind fades to black.  And then, down the road, sleeping through the realization the next day’s lunches weren’t made.  Sleeping when a child has a cold.  Sleeping because it's too hot.  Too cold.   Sleeping because it is necessary  in order to function.  Sleeping because one child rolled out of bed, the other needs a blanket adjustment and the third wants to chat while the man-on-the-moon is smirking at you. Want some sex?  I'm instantly in REM sleep.

Phoebe's Dad
Sleep:  Dad DNA required

The conundrum with all this sleeplessness is that my functionality and output needs to be sharper than a Cutco knife.  I learned to live with a permanent left eye-lid twitch, a direct result from sleep deprivation that accompanies me throughout the obstacle course of my daily routine.  The inverse relationship between hours slept and my ability to fulfill responsibilities to Todd, our children, the dogs and myself is cruel and unforgiving.  Yet somehow, it all gets done.  The kids are happy, Todd is happy and the dogs get fed.  I'm a walking zombie.

My other Jess, beloved sister, gave birth to my scrumptious niece this past August.  She thought she was tired before Phoebe was born. I didn't have the heart to ruin it for her.  Post-delivery she'd felt she’d been robbed but hadn't figured out what inventory was stolen.  I visited her and Brian in Los Angeles in October and her transformation was remarkable.  For dinner, Jess dumped an entire bottle of salad dressing on her four pieces of romaine lettuce.  No thought was successfully finished.   Making a bowl of cereal, too complex a task to undertake.  Showering seemed more exhausting than 40 days on a Survivor island.  She didn't sleep at night.  She couldn't wind down to nap during the day.  She became sleepless.  She became a mom.
Phoebe's dad Brian, a micro-surgery Fellow, was exhausted too but nevertheless helping with the night feedings.  Unlike Jess, I could find him sleeping on the couch, nodding off at the dining room table or snoozing over his laptop.  He found his sleep.  God bless daddy DNA.

Like me, the new mommy in LA couldn't will herself to recapture valuable hours of lost sleep.  She couldn't sleep through a peep on the monitor.    I flushed the toilet at 3:00 a.m. and woke her.  A truck driving by in the wee hours of the morning sent Jess to sit at her laptop, uploading pictures because "that's a normal use of time at 4:30 a.m."  I had to tell her the truth, "Jess, you'll never sleep well again.  This is it."  (Long pause for dramatic effect.)  I turned my back to her.  I thought she needed privacy for her grief.

Daddy DNA.  The dads I know can sleep through anything.  Baby screeching in her crib – no signs of male life.  Tree falling through the roof from a summer hurricane – a slight stir and roll over.  New puppy squealing in its crate - deep REM – no reaction.  A midnight urge for intimacy – ah ha! Todd can go from straight sleep to sex, do high-level algebra, provide emotional support and complete the Sunday Times crossword in pen.  Miraculous.  Back to instant sleep.

Case in Point

It goes back to Adam and Eve in their Garden of Eden.  My kids love my version of the story.  I tell them first there was Adam.  Then came Eve from Adam's rib.  They bit the forbidden fruit and were expelled from the Garden. The whole process exhausted Adam, he needed a nap.  Eve, she couldn't sleep. She knew there was too much that needed to get done and thus, our fates were sealed.