She once wrote about how she was happy to share stolen moments with her baby in the middle of the night. But then…
It was a bright and beautiful afternoon. The sun was out, not a cloud in the sky and the children in the park across the road were playing chases. Not that I knew any of this. I was inside, still in my pajamas trying to get my baby to sleep. I banged my head hard against his cot in frustration.
Fast forward a few days.
It was midnight. I was sitting on my bed trying to feed my baby a bottle of expressed milk. He didn’t want it. He also didn’t want to go to sleep, and nothing I could do would make him close his eyes. I threw the bottle across the room in frustration.
Fast forward a few more days.
It was 6am. I had been awake since 2am trying to get my baby to sleep. I was sitting in front of the fireplace in a recliner arm chair, ABC kids had just started on TV. My baby finally drifted off to sleep. I didn’t dare move. I slept sitting up right in that recliner for another hour and a half until he woke up. I was exhausted. Utterly exhausted…
I once wrote a blog about how happy I was my baby didn’t sleep through that night. I loved the sense of closeness those night feeds brought us. Just bub and I, sitting up feeding while the world slept around us. I longed to be that person again. But I didn’t resemble her. Not now.
I was sleep deprived. I understand now, if only in a small way, how sleep deprivation can be a form of torture. It is hard.