The Five Stages of Insomnia

Stage One: Denial
I'm barely aware of Brent getting ready to go to the temple. Since Liesel entered our lives, I've been released as an ordinance worker but Brent is still desperately needed. They're always short on men and Spanish speakers so the Boston temple made an exception in his case. Somewhere in the early morning fog of semi-consciousness, I think I hear him whisper, "No no, go back to sleep. Mom needs more sleep." He turns on our sound machine to "ocean" and quietly kisses me goodbye. I recede back into the fog. Sometime later I hear Liesel moving around beside me. She's kicking off the sheets and making her little baby grunts. I stay very still. Like a ravenous bear, I figure if I don't move she won't think I'm alive. It seems she senses this foolish thinking and will have none of it. In the next second she has a wad of my hair in her tiny, delicate, impossibly powerful fist and she's blowing me raspberries.

Stage Two: Anger
Why did we let her go to sleep at 7PM last night? Was it just too tempting for us to have a date night--just the two of us with a pizza and our latest Netflix movie? Why oh why couldn't we have roused her at 8:30... just for a couple of hours, before she went down for the night? For various reasons I've had a rather rough week at work. I've been looking forward to sleeping in since TUESDAY! Can't I even have another 20 minutes of sweet, blissful unconsciousness? I untangle my hair from Liesel's hand and roll over to look at her. She cracks a ginormous smile at seeing I'm awake and laughs heartily.

Stage Three: Bargaining
I change her diaper, feed her, feed her again, take off her onesie (she likes to be as nude as possible... I'm hoping she outgrows this tendency before adolescence), I rub her back, give her the pacifier, etc. I'm pulling out every trick in the book to get her back to sleep. Meanwhile Liesel is incredibly alert; looking around our bedroom as if she's never seen it before and everything is just fascinating. She's chatting with me and letting out her delighted squeals, laughing and cooing. Every time I give her the binkie she promptly spits it out and blows raspberries at me. It takes a few tries before I realize she thinks this is a game.

Stage Four: Depression
Reality has set in; I've been up for an hour now and it's clear I'm not going back to sleep. Perhaps I'll get a nap this afternoon? Riiiiight, who are we kidding? If I'm lucky Brent will be home by 2. I have a list of To Do items as long as my arm. Some of them are non-negotiable like laundry which HAS to get done today or like Liesel ,we'll all be essentially nude. In her play, Liesel manages to scratch her own face and make a tiny cut on her nose. She begins sobbing dramatically. Poor girl, this isn't her fault. After all, this is the time she usually gets up. We've so very carefully adhered to a schedule that supposedly infants thrive on. My dreams (no pun intended) of sleeping in fade in light of my new agenda for the morning. I'm not exactly sure what's on that agenda, but I do know Liesel is the author.

Stage Five: Acceptance
In spite of all this, Liesel has a way with my heart strings. It's difficult to turn her down when she wants to cuddle and play. Okay, so sleep isn't all THAT essential. Maybe I will get a nap in this afternoon! Brent will be dying to see her when he comes home and I'll be free to slip under the covers and catch up on my shut eye. In this moment of surrender I tickle Liesel's back and notice she's laying very still and rubbing her eyes on occasion. Within minutes she's fast asleep. *sigh* Now about that laundry...