I hate those nights with an infant when they don’t yet sleep in any kind of reasonable way. There is no measure of time, hours just roll on haphazardly and except for the clock on your wall you wouldn’t know there were twenty-four hours in a day, because one day begins before the last has ended and vice versa. There is no discernible sleep pattern or rhythm, it is just that sometimes the baby sleeps for ten minutes and other times they sleep for an hour and a half and once, for no apparent reason, they slept for three hours straight. And you want to love that three hours, the possibility of it, but it becomes menacing instead, like a threat or an accusation. Because you search for ways to repeat it and it doesn’t happen and you wonder what the hell you’re doing wrong because this baby can now sleep for three hours and really won’t. Instead, you perform endless futile experiments on yourself and the baby – swaddling them, not swaddling them, waking them to feed, leaving them to sleep, having this lamp off, not stepping on that floorboard, changing the nappy now, opening the window later, dressing the baby in an extra layer, sleeping next to them, putting them somewhere else to sleep. And I hate that feeling of finally falling into a deep sleep and then being woken by a desperate baby. I hate the sense of vulnerability you’re still carrying when you’re that deeply asleep and tired, and how you suddenly have to try to call yourself back. I hate the shock that shakes you awake with a crying baby. You enter a scene half-begun and have no idea your place in it. I hate fumbling around and dropping things and forgetting what you need and where you put it. I also hate lying there listening to contented babies and perfectly good sleep passing you by. I hate not being able to fall asleep because it seems like the baby is going to stir any minute. I hate being able to sense everyone else in the house, and up and down the street, asleep, when I am not. I hate the loneliness. I hate the night that goes on forever and the one that is abruptly announcing its end when you’ve not yet fallen asleep. I will never forget these nights as long as I live.
And that is it, that is why I offered to take one of those nights for a friend.
She’s a mother friend of mine, and she is also a foster-mother. One of her foster children at the moment is a newborn baby – fussy, of course, because if you had been through what this baby has been through you’d be pretty difficult, too. When I saw my friend this week she looked broken and more tired than I have ever seen her. She was the kind of brittle where you could break and splinter at any minute. And the kind of tired where you cannot stay still for too long or you will fall asleep on your feet. I told her I could take the baby overnight if she needed it. (I am authorised to provide respite to her and we have taken a foster child for half a day before). Yes, it was nice of me to offer this night, but you can’t compare to this woman, she’s a foster parent. She’s doing all the nights, all the time, for so many children, including her own.
She said to me, don’t say this unless you mean it, because I will take you up on it. Do it, I said, really, do this. And so last night I spent most of it awake with a tiny, little baby. An incredibly beautiful, tiny baby who lay there at one point gazing at my face and the shadows on the wall with the kind of solemn wonder that newborns have and I had to laugh quietly and whisper to the baby that this would be a delightful moment of wakefulness if it were just doing this during the day instead, little one.
What a great gift you provided your friend. I remember those times – one night’s respite would have felt like a week!
This is a beautiful post – made me cry a little while reading it with my morning coffee and even made me a little wistful for all those nights with my son (and there were many), now almost 5.
Fantastic
Great post. I’m sure your friend was relieved to get some sleep and regroup. And I loved how you described nights with a baby. I have a 15 month old and pretty much every night is still how you describe it. The night is so, so long and when the hell is it going to end? and yet if it ends, there will be no more sleep. Obviously we no longer have days/nights mixed up but she has never slept more than 3 hours straight.
I’m all weepy over here too. Not just the brutal reality of foster babies (babies! Christ the world is cruel) and small kindnesses, but it’s almost traumatic, remembering those days. I can’t read “Go The Fuck To Sleep” because I start crying then as well. And I never thought I had a particularly fussy baby, but she was eighteen months before she slept more than five hours (and she stopped doing that at six months). So therre are months and months of working full time and not sleeping because the toddler-baby woke up and nursing to sleep stopped working and everyone started with the CIO advice and that year sucked so bad. If I had a friend, who I knew wouldn’t take the night as an excuse to show me what is wrong with my parenting*, it would have made a world of difference.
And excuse me, I’m of to press that offer on my sister-in-law again.
* the one time my sister-in-law put my daughter down for a nap, she told us how she put her in bed and went away, so we should do that now since it works. And we should do it all the time from now because otherwise. Will coddle here and destroy her ability to sleep.
That doesn’t work for newborns, Loupe. From about 6 months they are able to learn to self soothe themselves to sleep – according to my memory which is probably out of date.
In those long hours when the whole world was asleep I sometimes used to fantasise about what an awesome witness I’d be if a crime was committed on the street below- ‘why yes, sargeant, I do recall the exact time I heard the scream – it was 3.47am. How can I be so confident? Well, let me explain…..’
You are a real friend.
This blog is simply AMAZING! The last 3 years of my life is all written here ….
I’ve poured over your blog for months now, but have never commented before. I couldn’t pass this one without acknowledging it. People say you forget the tough nights, you don’t! Not when it goes on and on and you get to point where you are so utterly, exhausted that every cell in your body is begging you to lie down, but that baby needs just one more walk down the passage way and she’ll fall asleep, just a few more rocks in the chair or bouncing in your arms or breastfeed. And then it happens, she sleeps, sweet relief, until you find yourself in bed calculating just how much sleep you could get if she sleeps for this many hours and go to sleep now!….now!….. please, sleep.
I grew to despise even fear my own bed, I just new she would wake as soon as I fell asleep or at least got comfortable and then I would have to scrape together enough mental fortitude and physical energy to return to the upright position.
It is burned into my memory, and unfortunately it is on repeat with child number two. The perfect sleeper for five and a half months. Then…. not. Awake again and again and again and if one more person tells me it’s my fault for feeding her to sleep I think I’ll scream.
My aunt has four children (18 months to 2 years apart), the youngest of whom is now 24. She says she didn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time for eight years. She says whenever she wakes in the night these days, she is still grateful that there is no baby to attend to!
I haven’t slept for many hours together for the past 7 months (my baby was inexplicably good at sleeping between 6 and 12 weeks, then forgot how to do it) but I am ever hopeful…
Dear Blue Milk, I also pour over your blog. Completely love it. I have been meaning to send you a message since before Christmas. It’s just a thank you message. You are such a gifted writer. Your feminism is so grounding and I love that you put me in touch with the things I love and I don’t have to go searching for them myself. I have two little people, just 2 and nearly 4. I am still working at stopping breastfeeding during the night with just 2 year old – had it in my sights for 22 months. But that passed. And horror of horrors, almost 4 year old gave up the dummy recently. That has been so completely dreadful – not at all like some would have you believe, ie, not as bad as you think. It’s been worse. I want to give it back to her until she’s 21. I finally got both babies to sleep at 10:30pm tonight and am now running across the blogs, emails and read your lovely post. What a lovely kind friend you are. Like others, it brings tears to my eyes. Sleep deprivation is foul. Our little people are wonderful. But some sleep would help me be a kinder gentler person. Thank you for sharing this wonderful post.
Awww you guys, what lovely comments, making my night, thank you! Also, love seeing so many lurkers write a comment.
Once again this blog, and its commenters, are making me feel less alone. I’m in the midst of 17-month-old still waking up several times a night to nurse. You nailed it bluemilk about the vulnerability. I feel so soft and easily swayed into questioning my choices when people suggest we’d all get more sleep if I just tried CIO, or stopped night-nursing, etc. You all help me stay strong and true to my heart, thank you.
You described my nights for the past 4 months precisely. I’m sure your friend was relieved to have one, oh good heavens, just one decent night.