sleepless is the night

When Katelyn was first born and I was swimming in a sea of post partum hormones, I remember tearfully asking my mom when it gets easier.  I adored by brand new baby fresh baby but those first sleepless nights were hard.

And when I say first sleepless nights, I mean after my mom went home and the celebratory confetti settled.  I had copious amounts of help for the first three weeks.

The days were wonderful.  I spent my time blissfully holding my precious newborn and either watching her squishy sleeping face or staring into her dark grey eyes.  (Her eyes are a beautiful blue green but when she was first born, they were black like two little halved olives.)  She really didn't cry much.  She just slept and ate and slept.

I had started to really get the hang of nursing and when she ate, I could sit on a recliner and watch TV.  (TV is much better in the day, by the way.)  Dave and I took her in the stroller for walks every day.  She loved the stroller.  It bought us an hour or so outside in the fresh air with the part of the population that showered and combed their hair.  Dave would walk a few laps around a playground while I would swing, alone in my thoughts.  That was truly wonderful.

We were living with Dave's parents so during the day, there was never a shortage of blessed helpers.  Grandparents and aunts and uncles who eagerly held little Kitty Kate while I did the dishes, washed some clothes, or sometimes just sat there enjoying a moment.

The day time was great.

But at night, the sun went down.  I would see it out the window begin to make its initial descent, the sky shifting from a bright blue canvas of puffy white clouds to a pink and orange backdrop for the purple mountains.  This sight filled me with dread.

Nighttime was so quiet and lonely.  The world started to shut down and everyone went to bed.  It felt colder and stiller and time seemed to stop.  All that was on TV was Seinfeld and I began to resent the fictional characters for having a life outside of my darkened living room.  I would watch their stupid little antics with contempt as I held my perfectly sleeping baby while fighting to stay awake for fear that she would disappear if I closed my eyes.

Dave was my rock.  He willingly woke up each morning for the 5 AM shift so that I could sleep.  And oh, he let me sleep.  I just had to make it until 5 and at the other end of that dark sleepless night was a warm bed in a silent room only to be interrupted by a quick feeding session and a Diet Coke.  I doubt many wives can brag that their husbands took such a lion's share of the nighttime care.  He was and still is a very devoted father.

But because of that, he got to sleep at night.  And with sleep came his horrifyingly loud snoring.  And with that snoring came my pure seething jealousy.  I would sit there, green with envy, staring at him while I held my baby that wouldn't sleep in a crib.  And then I would remember that he was getting up soon to watch me sleep and listen to me snore and then I would feel guilty.  And then I would cry and drip big salty tears on Katelyn's face and feel bad for that too.

So I asked my mom once at the onset of yet another dark and lonely night, "When does it get easier?"

And she said never.

And I panicked.

"But," she said, "You get used to it and it becomes wonderful.  You will be like a horse that has been bridled.  Right now, you are kicking and bucking under your saddle.  But soon, you will grow accustomed to it and learn to love it.  And, if you need a milestone, three, six, and nine months are pretty big.  Nine months is the best."

I swallowed back tears and tried hard to believe her.

Now, I'm one month past the nine month mark and she was right.  It is the best.  Katelyn is doing new things every day.  She has a little personality that I am absolutely and irreversibly in love with.  I wonder what I did before she was born.  She is my constant companion, my daily entertainment, and my world.  I don't know what I did without my "saddle."

And oddly enough, I miss the quiet nights.  Because what seemed like blackened lonely silence was actually calm and peaceful stillness.

Last night, I looked into Katelyn's room to check on her before I went to bed.  To my delight, she was sitting up in her crib.  It startled me at first so I quickly shut the door.  But then I opened it again and for a minute we just stared at each other.  Finally, she spoke up, "Eh!"  I called Dave over and we both stared at the beautiful creature we can't get enough of.  Finally, she whined to be picked up so we brought her to our bed for a while and enjoyed a family snuggle before we all went to sleep.

 It reminded me of the silent nights I got to spend holding her close and kissing her forehead and I didn't even know how lucky I was.