(Design by Bruce Gregga)
This post is dedicated to Sandman Extraordinaire– Jimmy Feld. Thanks, Doc. For everything.
It all started with a Christmas present. From my two BFF’s, “Charlotte” and “Miranda.”
The box was beautifully wrapped, (natch) swagged within an inch of its life and encased in a gorgeous gift bag. And there was a heavy, elegantly-engraved card that read, “Since none of us have been doing too much of this lately, we thought this was perfect.”
I shut my eyes and prayed.
“Oh, please, dear God, let this be sleeping pills.”
It was this instead.
Cute. And I certainly loved the sentiment. But let’s be frank.
I need some sleep.
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since…
Forever.
It probably started back in 1978. This was the reason.
My note on the back indicates that this is Natasha at two weeks old. She looks like a little Infanta of Spain, right?
In her nocturnal habits, she was a whole lot closer to Count Dracula.
Promptly at 5:30 p.m. she would conk out. And then promptly at 2 a.m. she was up and at ’em.
The baby book assured me that most babies knock off the 2 a.m. feeding at around four or five months old.
Natasha kept up the middle of the night wake up call for SIX years.***
***In fact, she was so old that she still remembers the “star chart” I had made for her. I would paste in a gold star in the calendar if she slept through the night.
OMG.
As she grew a little older, I could coax her back to sleep until 5 a.m. And then it was rise and shine.
For the rest of the day.
After five years of comatosely watching It’s Worth Knowing and Sunrise Semester, I finally collapsed with early morning exhaustion. I was ready to make a devil’s bargain with my little lark.
“Natasha, IF you stay in your room until Bozo’s Circus, I will buy you your very own tv.”
She mulled it over and decided she could live with that.
And she remains an early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise bird to this day.
My daughter came by this infernally-early internal alarm clock naturally. She inherited it from her father.
For the twenty years we spent together, Bill’s sleeping habits were dicked up. (Correct medical term, right, Jimmy?) He would awaken at 2 a.m. exercise, do paperwork, shower and then be downtown at the East Bank Club at 5:20 when it opened.
On the other end, if we weren’t scheduled to go out out that night, he would come home, eat, and collapse by 7 p.m.
This meant that for twenty years, he had to have his own room.
Very Downton Abbey, but not great on the intimacy side of things.
And his routine never varied. When we went out of town, the lights would go on at 2 a.m. no matter what.
Not fun in Readfield, Maine or Newport, Rhode Island or anywhere else that didn’t have a 24 hour gym so he could vamoose.
For twenty years, I got used to sleeping (mostly) alone in the bed, so it was an adjustment when the next couple of husbands actually wanted to get in it with me.
Kinda nice, though. A girl could get used to it.
And I did.
Which brings me to today. Or should I say “tonight?”
I can not sleep.
I read, email, watch Netflix, catch old British serials on YouTube, (The Pallisers is currently binge-playing on my iPad. Fun to see a pre-Brideshead Revisited Anthony Andrews and Jeremy Irons together as pals at Oxford) make notes for a new blog post, chat on the phone, text, check my email again, message friends on the West Coast, and then when my eyes get weary and I finally feel the wave of sleepiness come over me…
I shut off the lights and…
I wake up the minute my head hits the pillow.
I think, and fret, and think, and toss and turn, and plan tomorrow’s dinner, and look at the clock, and toss and turn, think about how cute and smart the new Cumberbaby will be, google old boyfriends and make imaginary ski runs down from Gwyn’s and…
You get the idea.
If I ever do get some sleep, I wake up looking like a hag.
This has got to stop.
Maybe 2015 will bring me some z’s.
I’d better knock this off now.
But fingers crossed that tonight will be different. (Even though there is Brideshead to be watched and sheep just dying to be counted.)
Yawn.
See you in my dreams.
So glad I had your blog to read this morning since I have been up since 3:30am…
Very nice, Vivian! The comment- not the sleep deprivation. (Btw, I always sleep like a pine log in Eagle River. Another reason I love it up there.) Thanks, fellow camper.
I would bet that most of your readers have sleeping problems. The men can write it off to prostate problems requiring them to get up frequently to urinate ( nocturia is the correct medical term not “dicked up”) and the women – not sure why without saying something sexist. I am up every morning by 3am and at the gym by 3:45 and at the hospital by 6. Needless to say not much of a nightlife. But for that matter going to a 5pm movie is always better than later in the evening – no crowds/better parking. Having been in the world of anesthesia for over 35 years – to this day I am fascinated by the science of sleep. As most research shows – there is too little of it. In the Wall Street Journal 2 days ago on the front page there was an article about professional snugglers . People who get paid to snuggle (no sex) with you. Maybe that’s what the world needs to sleep better. Anyway, Ellen, thanks for writing about this subject. It needs to be brought out of the bedroom.
Thank you for the professional sleepmeister’s point of view on this problem. It’s is comforting (a little) to know that I do not suffer alone. Glad to have the word “nocturia” in my lexicon now, too. I was in fact a little unsure of the rightness of “dicked up.”
And I might have to hire a professional snuggler. Thanks for the heads up, Doctor.
You guys need to try the “Trivia Crack” iPhone App.
Never heard of it, but it sounds deliciously addictive. I’ll check it out. Thanks, Dicky.
For a scholar’s take on insomnia, or at least its possible origins, read “At Day’s Close: Night in Times Past” by A. Roger Ekirch (2006), about night, and sleep patterns, in pre-industrial Europe. Sounds like a snore, I know, but you’ll learn that it was the norm for people to wake up in the middle of the night, read, work, or even visit neighbors, then go back to bed and sleep until morning. Not the bleary nightmare it is now, just an accepted part of life. There’s also a lot about the perils of night, the high cost of candles, etc., that may or may not make you appreciate the age of Edison, but will definitely add a dimension of understanding when reading, in the wee hours, about our sleepless ancestors. And yes, professional snugglers sound like a great idea to me, or at least a good start.
The book sounds fascinating. I’ll add it to my nightstand. Or my Kindle. I’m running out of room. Books are everywhere in my house. And I wonder if I can pick my snuggler? Thanks, John.
Ah, Brideshead Revisited, the version you’re currently watching: rivetingly (is that a word?) beautiful TV! Haunting soundtrack too.
PS: really enjoying your blogs/essays Ellen!
-MAS
Ah, someone picked up on Brideshead. I saw it when it first came out and loved it. It’s perfect. Everything from the cast to the music-as you rightly point up- is perfection. Enchanting, captivating, tragic, frivolous, well…perfect.
Thanks, Martin. Encouragement indeed.