Friends, you’ll never believe what happened this weekend. No, I didn’t win Powerball, but it was like hitting the lottery in some ways. I slept through the night! I know, a true Christmas miracle.
Prior to having children, I could sleep eight hours without even turning over. Solid, deep, delicious ZZZs almost every single night. I’d awake rested, energized and generally in good spirits. Pregnancy changed all of that, what with raging hormones and an ever-growing belly that made staying in bed for more than 120 minutes a pipe dream. Then of course, once the rugrats arrived, my time became their time. Feedings, diapers, bad dreams, sudden coughing and the random thunderstorm all colluded with my little ones to ensure I never reached REM.
The tween and teen years were no better, as my kids became independent creatures of the dark. I’d jolt awake to a toilet flush or a microwave beep, possibly a poorly concealed guffaw. And once they started driving, it was always the post-curfew garage door opening that thrashed my hopes of uninterrupted slumber, regardless of my commercial grade sound machine and the occasional Unisom.
And despite being an empty nester now, I still generally wake up two to three times. Basically, the combination of motherhood and middle age has made me a perennial light sleeper with superhuman hearing and little bladder control. Go figure.
Which is why I am rejoicing this morning. I went to bed at 9 p.m. and can’t remember seeing the clock until 5 a.m. What? I had to confirm this tremendous feat with my husband because I simply couldn’t believe it. My sleeping through the night? A goshdarn Christmas miracle!
Peace out.
