Love and Sleep

So now I am on the other side. The “there” where I’ve accumulated another human being and a baffling array of acronyms. Now I am privy to the world of DDs and OHs and NIP and FTM.  Never have I seen so many breasts and bottoms on my social media newsfeed. “DS2 in his new AIO” and “First time NIP!” I am not explaining… you are going to have to do what every un-internet savvy FTM does and google the meanings.

But back to the new human being. My “DD” apparently. 

No... the acronyms don’t do it for me. I just couldn’t reduce this glorious albeit tiny human being to two letters, even if they do resemble a hefty motherhood bra size. Yes, I am now part of the grouping of humans who are starry eyed with love. And broken sleep. Love and broken sleep. But mostly people want to hear about sleep.

There are variations to the phraseology, but the gist of it is:

“Does she sleep?” 

My answer is usually a much abbreviated version of what I’m really thinking: 

“Yes she sleeps loads. She sleeps like a baby. A baby who doesn’t know night from day. A baby who was never hungry or thirsty or cold or alone for nine months in my womb. A baby who is born with a brain only 25% developed and a tummy the size of a chickpea. A human baby whose mother’s milk is made with a low fat content to ensure frequent feedings keep baby close to mother to help that brain continue developing in the safe environment where it began. She sleeps like a baby.”)

If one wishes to make a baby’s sleeping pattern a moral issue simply add the word “good” to the question; “Is she a good sleeper?” 

If the preference is for an emphasis on the parent’s ability to control the new human being, add the sentence “Have you got her into a routine yet?” 

And if one likes to focus on the manipulating superpower of the tiny human then wording it like this is best: “Is she sleeping well for you?”

So here’s a surprise fresh from the other side: Sleep really isn’t the biggest or most interesting or even most challenging thing about becoming a parent. 

Why not ask me about the love?

Ask me how many times she smiled at me today.

Let me tell you about the conversation she initiated when I was trying to change her nappy and leave the house. 

Ask me about how she challenges my hurried pace. 

Ask me about how she makes me see all the things I have missed for years. 

Let me tell you about the shaft of light she showed me on the living room wall today. 

Let me tell you about the lengthy study she took of the cushion cover we bought in Bangkok before we imagined it would engage our three month old in conversation.

This is the kind of love that allows me to let go of those clothes in my wardrobe that suddenly just don’t fit, or don’t allow me feed my baby without stripping off first.

This is a love that makes me hope that I will someday accept the scars and flab across my once gloriously smooth stomach. (Or in my FTM naivety I still think they might go away…)

This is the love that makes it acceptable to not shave my legs in six weeks. 

This is the love that normalises discussing fecal matter with your husband over dinner.

The love list goes on…  But you asked me about sleep.

It is the kind of love that pulls me from the middle of a dream-full sleep at 2.20am because it is nuzzling beside me. Again. Already. Me? Now? Seriously?

Love, sleep, love...

It is the kind of love that can heal my broken, aching, frustrated, exhausted self with the opening of big wide eyes in the morning, and that smile of recognition and delight.

Someday she will be in a bed far from home. She might be waking up and fixing that gaze of perfect love and trust on someone else. And I will not regret one wakeful moment. I will not regret one interruption. I will not regret getting up from writing this blog (at this very sentence) to pick her up and hold her and feed her. I will not lose sleep over any ‘lost’ sleep. There is no loss here there is only gain, great and glorious, albeit sometimes very tired, gain.