Sleeping through and other post-colonial myths.
When I was pregnant with Gray I could sleep at any given moment of the day, instantly. The school I was teaching at at the time (which will remain unnamed to protect the identify of a colleague who will be given an alias anyway) had a very peculiar little room that was attached to the ladies toilets. In it was a chaise lounge. And the door could lock. And it was dark. And I spent very spare moment I could in there either holding down the morning sickness or sleeping. The only downer of this very cozy arrangement is that I got very familiar with the toilet habits of my colleagues. The acoustics in there were remarkable. Let's just say I know why we went through so much toilet spray - spraying before, during and after a movement won't fool us into thinking we're walking through a field of summer potpourri Sharon.
Anyway my point is that during my pregnancy with Gray I was willing to snatch every spare moment, laced with eau de Sharon, to try and pull myself towards myself. He literally drained the life force out of me. And I mean that in the most loving way possible. My hair went straight, my morning sickness landed me in hospital at two in the morning, I have never been so uncomfortable in my life with terrible heartburn, I was constantly hot and sweating and the skin on my stomach was so sensitive that I really didn't like people touching it. From early on I had to sleep straddling a pillow with another one under my tummy. I would arrive anywhere lugging my two pillows with me like an old granny with her vanity case. And every night was a turmoil of repositioning pillows everytime I turned over. I would look at other women graciously gliding through pregnancy still able to wear elasticized jeans up to their due dates with bafflement. Dont get me wrong, I loved being pregnant, but I was very aware of my pregnancy 24 hours a day.
In short I wasn't so much pregnant with Gray but more being colonized by him. Perhaps it's just a first child thing but honestly everything I was belonged to him. Every ounce of energy I had I put I to making him. And when he was born I spent ten months at home with him being everything to him. He owned me. He still does. Having studied post-colonial literature and theater I do know that the term 'colonized' is a sensitive one. If you are sensitive to the use of this term know that I am using it in a very broad way to try and articulate, through hyperbole, my feelings on parenthood.
When Gray was born and I held this surprise boy in my arms, who arrived ten days early weighing 3.8kgs, I could just see who this person was going to be. He was going to be strong, active, spirited, clever and always on the go. In short raising him has not been so much about parenting but more about adventuring.
The thing about adventuring is that an adventurer is no wilting violet. The nurses would wheel this scarlet faced screaming baby boy into my room for a feed in the early hours of the morning chuckling to themselves about the sheer force of his character. There is nothing small about who Gray is. When he woke up I would know it instantly because he was either very asleep or very awake. There is no grey area with Gray, ironically. And don't you dare think that you can ever sit down while holding him, ever. And you mustn't just stand, you must move and keep the view interesting. Our best thing was to go to the shops on pensioners days with him strapped up in our Baby Bjorn because then he had a whole shopping center full of doting old people to gurgle and smile at. On the sensory spectrum Gray is a social butterfly.
For those of you reading this and nodding because you too have given birth to an adverturer you will know that there are two phrases that will haunt you as a parent forever. They certainly are mine.
The first is the term from a well loved parenting book which suggests that you put your child down into his bed 'drowsy but awake'. In his almost four years of life I don't think Gray has ever been drowsy but awake. I have watched with, I'll be honest, sheer covetousness, as my brother and sister in law walk off with their two angelic girls, pop them in their beds to emerge a minute later with the knowledge that the chances of their going to sleep on their own are fairly high. Our sleep routine has always taken a 'little' longer.
I actually get a smile on my face when ever I think of this next phrase. Even more so when I see new moms posting this well worn question on social media groups. It goes something like this - 'my baby has been alive for like two minutes, when can I expect them to sleep through?' Ah sleeping through, that old nugget. The term that I probably Googled for the first time when Gray was about three weeks old and we were in the throes of horrendous silent reflux and an aversion to any forn of gas causing food (which resulted in a very restrictive diet for me throughout the duration of my breastfeeding). #dietevencolonized.
After my preliminary inquest into sleeping through I then intensified my search with questions like 'how many hours does a child sleep in order for it to be considered sleeping through?' And 'At a push can two and a half hours be considered sleeping though? And 'is it safe to attach masking tape to a dummy?'
Now when Moms post questions that say, 'My child is 7 months old and still not sleeping through what can I do?' I am tempted to reply, 'Wait another two and a half years idiot.' And even then you're not guaranteed a full night's sleep. But then I remember that I too was that idiot.
But we are all actually idiots. Having children turns us into idiots. We are doing the hardest job in the whole world while sleep deprived. By the way when you accidentally pour pineapple Tropica into your Pronutro the smell is not as kiff as you think it might be.
It is earth shattering. And just as you get used to the rhythms of one small human being you go along and have another.
And that where I am now. Before I even had Eva I knew that everything about her was going to be different. I often forgot I was pregnant with her. I wore jeans up to my due date. I slept like a normal person and was often surprised to roll over and find a big tummy there. My hair curled. I needed an average amount of sleep. And I eventually had to be induced because my fat little fairly was going nowhere.
And I hate to say it but she may very well be a drowsy but awake candidate. And the other day she and I lay on a bed staring at each other for a full half hour not saying a word. And she likes to just be by herself. And tonight when I put her down to sleep her eyes opened and I walked out the room and assume she put herself back to sleep because I haven't heard from her in two hours. That has literally never happened to me before. Ever.
And do you know the scariest thing about all this is? These are issues based purely on how much sleep we're getting based on the personalities of our children. None of this is big stuff. It is not the questions posted on social media that go along the lines of...
'My second child has just been diagnosed as autistic. How do I ensure that my first child is still getting the attention he needs.'
Or
'My husband absolutely dotes on our daughter but has very little in common with our little boy. How can I encourage some form of relationship between them?'
Or
'My daughter is now a year old. I still feel nothing for her. I see to her basic needs but that is all I can do. Help.'
Or
'My teenage daughter is gay. How do I show her that I still love her.'
Or
'My son is going through a really painful divorce. How can I provide support for him and his children?'
Parenting never ends.
Being a parent means that we become the teritory of an unknown entity. And we change ourselves to be everything this entity needs from us. We become colonized. For a mother from the moment conception happens we are no longer in control of our bodies. And we bare the scars of this colonization forever. And we are proud of these scars. And then just as we settle into our new way of life we are recolonized by another entirely different unknown entity. And some people choose to be colonized again and again. And every time it happens we have to learn a new language, a new sense of touch, a new way of parenting. Because each child is different and each child needs a different kind of love from us. The trick is to be fair with that love. To be fair with your time. And to be fair with your expectations of yourself.
For now I am just going to marvel that the loin fruit I have produced are so entirely different and delightful. I have my adventurer and my drowsy but awake. They will continue to change and I will have to change with them.
In the meantime I need to focus on being present with each of them in a space that best suits what they need from me. I'm also going to keep working on my patent for masking tape dummies, surely there's got to be a market out there? We'll get these babies sleeping through in no time.
Anyway my point is that during my pregnancy with Gray I was willing to snatch every spare moment, laced with eau de Sharon, to try and pull myself towards myself. He literally drained the life force out of me. And I mean that in the most loving way possible. My hair went straight, my morning sickness landed me in hospital at two in the morning, I have never been so uncomfortable in my life with terrible heartburn, I was constantly hot and sweating and the skin on my stomach was so sensitive that I really didn't like people touching it. From early on I had to sleep straddling a pillow with another one under my tummy. I would arrive anywhere lugging my two pillows with me like an old granny with her vanity case. And every night was a turmoil of repositioning pillows everytime I turned over. I would look at other women graciously gliding through pregnancy still able to wear elasticized jeans up to their due dates with bafflement. Dont get me wrong, I loved being pregnant, but I was very aware of my pregnancy 24 hours a day.
In short I wasn't so much pregnant with Gray but more being colonized by him. Perhaps it's just a first child thing but honestly everything I was belonged to him. Every ounce of energy I had I put I to making him. And when he was born I spent ten months at home with him being everything to him. He owned me. He still does. Having studied post-colonial literature and theater I do know that the term 'colonized' is a sensitive one. If you are sensitive to the use of this term know that I am using it in a very broad way to try and articulate, through hyperbole, my feelings on parenthood.
When Gray was born and I held this surprise boy in my arms, who arrived ten days early weighing 3.8kgs, I could just see who this person was going to be. He was going to be strong, active, spirited, clever and always on the go. In short raising him has not been so much about parenting but more about adventuring.
The thing about adventuring is that an adventurer is no wilting violet. The nurses would wheel this scarlet faced screaming baby boy into my room for a feed in the early hours of the morning chuckling to themselves about the sheer force of his character. There is nothing small about who Gray is. When he woke up I would know it instantly because he was either very asleep or very awake. There is no grey area with Gray, ironically. And don't you dare think that you can ever sit down while holding him, ever. And you mustn't just stand, you must move and keep the view interesting. Our best thing was to go to the shops on pensioners days with him strapped up in our Baby Bjorn because then he had a whole shopping center full of doting old people to gurgle and smile at. On the sensory spectrum Gray is a social butterfly.
For those of you reading this and nodding because you too have given birth to an adverturer you will know that there are two phrases that will haunt you as a parent forever. They certainly are mine.
The first is the term from a well loved parenting book which suggests that you put your child down into his bed 'drowsy but awake'. In his almost four years of life I don't think Gray has ever been drowsy but awake. I have watched with, I'll be honest, sheer covetousness, as my brother and sister in law walk off with their two angelic girls, pop them in their beds to emerge a minute later with the knowledge that the chances of their going to sleep on their own are fairly high. Our sleep routine has always taken a 'little' longer.
I actually get a smile on my face when ever I think of this next phrase. Even more so when I see new moms posting this well worn question on social media groups. It goes something like this - 'my baby has been alive for like two minutes, when can I expect them to sleep through?' Ah sleeping through, that old nugget. The term that I probably Googled for the first time when Gray was about three weeks old and we were in the throes of horrendous silent reflux and an aversion to any forn of gas causing food (which resulted in a very restrictive diet for me throughout the duration of my breastfeeding). #dietevencolonized.
After my preliminary inquest into sleeping through I then intensified my search with questions like 'how many hours does a child sleep in order for it to be considered sleeping through?' And 'At a push can two and a half hours be considered sleeping though? And 'is it safe to attach masking tape to a dummy?'
Now when Moms post questions that say, 'My child is 7 months old and still not sleeping through what can I do?' I am tempted to reply, 'Wait another two and a half years idiot.' And even then you're not guaranteed a full night's sleep. But then I remember that I too was that idiot.
But we are all actually idiots. Having children turns us into idiots. We are doing the hardest job in the whole world while sleep deprived. By the way when you accidentally pour pineapple Tropica into your Pronutro the smell is not as kiff as you think it might be.
It is earth shattering. And just as you get used to the rhythms of one small human being you go along and have another.
And that where I am now. Before I even had Eva I knew that everything about her was going to be different. I often forgot I was pregnant with her. I wore jeans up to my due date. I slept like a normal person and was often surprised to roll over and find a big tummy there. My hair curled. I needed an average amount of sleep. And I eventually had to be induced because my fat little fairly was going nowhere.
And I hate to say it but she may very well be a drowsy but awake candidate. And the other day she and I lay on a bed staring at each other for a full half hour not saying a word. And she likes to just be by herself. And tonight when I put her down to sleep her eyes opened and I walked out the room and assume she put herself back to sleep because I haven't heard from her in two hours. That has literally never happened to me before. Ever.
And do you know the scariest thing about all this is? These are issues based purely on how much sleep we're getting based on the personalities of our children. None of this is big stuff. It is not the questions posted on social media that go along the lines of...
'My second child has just been diagnosed as autistic. How do I ensure that my first child is still getting the attention he needs.'
Or
'My husband absolutely dotes on our daughter but has very little in common with our little boy. How can I encourage some form of relationship between them?'
Or
'My daughter is now a year old. I still feel nothing for her. I see to her basic needs but that is all I can do. Help.'
Or
'My teenage daughter is gay. How do I show her that I still love her.'
Or
'My son is going through a really painful divorce. How can I provide support for him and his children?'
Parenting never ends.
Being a parent means that we become the teritory of an unknown entity. And we change ourselves to be everything this entity needs from us. We become colonized. For a mother from the moment conception happens we are no longer in control of our bodies. And we bare the scars of this colonization forever. And we are proud of these scars. And then just as we settle into our new way of life we are recolonized by another entirely different unknown entity. And some people choose to be colonized again and again. And every time it happens we have to learn a new language, a new sense of touch, a new way of parenting. Because each child is different and each child needs a different kind of love from us. The trick is to be fair with that love. To be fair with your time. And to be fair with your expectations of yourself.
For now I am just going to marvel that the loin fruit I have produced are so entirely different and delightful. I have my adventurer and my drowsy but awake. They will continue to change and I will have to change with them.
In the meantime I need to focus on being present with each of them in a space that best suits what they need from me. I'm also going to keep working on my patent for masking tape dummies, surely there's got to be a market out there? We'll get these babies sleeping through in no time.
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