My wife and I are recovering insomniacs. Before there was an “us”, there was little to no sleep. When we became an “us”, there was little to no sleep, either – these were delectable sleepless nights. When “us” became “US”, we started dozing off, and for the first time in years, I had full/complete/uninterrupted nights of sleep. “US” became parents, and Sleep took its belongings and walked out the door, laughing out loud: Guffaw! Guffaw! Guffaw! (that is not the sound of a dying seal, readers…).
We’ve been beseeching Sleep to come back to us. We’ve invited many of its friends, just to show Sleep how serious we were: melatonin, booze, Mary Jane… You name it, we’ve tried it. The bottom line is, Sleep is scared shitless of Lord Evil Poppy.
Early last year, we tried co-sleeping with Lord Evil Poppy. Her crib was already in our ginormous master bedroom. [We believe in keeping
evil our toddlers in dark closet spaces close to us, after birth]. It wasn’t good enough for Lord Evil Poppy, and her laments from Hell kept us [and the neighbours] awake. So what’s a tiny little baby in a very large king-sized bed like, you’ll ask?
Co-sleeping ended up being detrimental to both our physical and mental health. Being so close to Lord Evil Poppy’s energy sucked us dry, and we became pale versions of ourselves, and quite frankly, very moody [I would like to take this opportunity and apologize to anyone we've impaled for just saying "hello" during the The Dark and Hazy times]. Lord Evil Poppy was therefore given her own room. Like so many other
ungrateful parents, it was time to reclaim our fu*king space.
I’ll spare you with all the other failed attempts at luring Sleep back to our quarters, and bring you up to speed. Sunday – the same Sunday Sara enjoyed her Heneiken (rancid goat semen, according to Smaktakula). Bedtime (for us). 11ish. Lord Evil Poppy is in her room, sleeping [we think]. As we’re about to drift away, it starts… The backward Latin loud, louder, loudest incantations from her room, and they went on, ALL FU*KING NIGHT LONG.
Please forgive my French, but that was la crisse de goutte qui a fait déborder le vase … The next morning, I grabbed the phone, and had a heart-to heart conversation with Sleep. It finally felt sorry for “US”. Sleep suggested we bring back Lord Evil Poppy’s crib in our room, and promised to come back and live with “US” if all goes well… After three nights, we can tentatively call this a semi-success. There has been some Latin incantations coming out of our daughter’s mouth [or very loud thoughts], some light flickering and the ground shakes on occasion, but for the first time in a very long time, we’ve had at least 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep each. We’re obviously [and undeniably] cautiously optimistic, but it’s good to see Sleep‘s face again.
All Hail Lord Evil Poppy!