I am once again the mother of a newborn and my nights are not my own.
The first night home from the hospital was the worst. I was up until 4:00 a.m. with a very fussy baby, at which point I woke my husband and said, “I can’t do this anymore.”
He was groggy but got up to spot me…
…and I collapsed in a quivering heap upon the bed.
It has since gotten much better, thankfully. I fill up little Anthony’s tank before retiring and hand him over to my husband, who then tucks his son away in a sling and keeps doing whatever it is my husband does when I’m passed out.
We’re on two different shifts, that man and me.
And then, around 2:00 a.m. or so, John will bring me a hungry baby. Having had a good four hours of sleep at that point, I feel (more or less) rested and gather up my son to nurse him.
I like to feed him in my bedroom recliner so that when he’s finished—schlorp!—I detach him like a cork and we fall asleep….a mommy and her son in a La-Z-Boy recliner.
Here’s the thing, though. It’s a light sleep—How could it not be?—and my dreams are often anxious. We’re talking really anxious. We’re talking here’s the story that I have as a result.
I dreamt that I was sleeping on the living room couch. I woke (in my dream) to see that there was someone in the kitchen—a prowler!—and I was terrified. Being in a dreamlike state, however, I could neither run nor yell for help.
Or could I?
I woke up (really woke up) to the sound of a subhuman groan. It was me! And the noise that was coming out of my mouth was startling.
It was like I was screaming…under water.
It was so weird.
My husband sat bolt upright and stared at me. “Margaret? Are you alright?”
He was so completely confused and concerned that I got the giggles. And then we heard the dog’s collar rattling on the landing—she’s not allowed to come upstairs without permission—and when John went to check on her, he said that she was peering up with her head cocked in bewilderment. “What in the world,” you just knew she was thinking, “Was that?”
Over in my recliner, I continued to giggle as my husband lay there, weirded out.
I’m still giggling!
Do you have any middle-of-the-night feeding stories to share? If so, I’d love to hear them.
Ad Jesum per Mariam,