The illogic of night thinking
As my son lies crying at the bottom of the stairs to our bedroom, I lie immobilized with my heart racing. He has gottten up again in the middle of the night calling for milk. There will be no milk — just like last night and the night before that.
The silent prayer in my heart is that I stand the cusp of a regular solid night’s sleep. If only we could get over this hurdle. Every night I have attended to his cries — judiciously by my estimation — never staying long, talking if at all or coddling. But still my boy wakes sometimes wanting me as if he’s unsure where he is. Does he believe he goes somewhere in his dreams and need to be resituated? Sometimes he just needs my touch, othertimes he calls for milk, his code for hunger or comfort. I cannot find much rhyme or reason, but I am certain that my attention to this night waking is important for his sense of security.
I’m not a Mum who has trouble hearing her child cry out of anger, the frustration of denial or exhaustion. I know that crying is sometimes important to move feelings, however foreign they may be, through a little body. But I do listen to the cry as the handle Baby Whisperer might imply. Believe me, if I thought that letting him cry in his bed (or the hallway where he sometimes ends up) would move him beyond believing that night waking is satisfying, I would jump on that wagon. But for as long as he’s been able to get out of bed (first his crib, now his bed) he’s been driven to do that — to find me, touch me and then fall back to sleep. Are the Spirits playing with him in the night?
So last night, I heard the cry from the bottom of the stairs and I was not convinced. I didn’t believe that he needed either milk or me. He was just up and wanted some company. So I let him cry for 10 - 15 minutes. From this boy this is not a feeble attempt to garner attention . As I threw back the covers, I heard my husband say, ”leave him” but I was too angry to reply. I went down the stairs like a Mum bent on justice, picked up my boy and returned him to bed without a word. I lay the covers over his body, closed the door and returned to bed. The message was clear: enough. I was unable to sleep for the remainder of the night for the loud internal dialogue within.
Am I perpetuating this waking by attending to him or ensuring his emotional security? Does letting him cry teach him something (Mum’s not listening, for instance) or just cause both our blood pressures to rise? Is it possible that he really needs to be grounded by our contact, however brief? Little minds cannot make sense of scary, confusing or unfamiliar thoughts during the day, let alone in the dark of night alone in their beds. If I continue to attend to him I err on the side of reassurance and emotional connectedness. But man, I need to have 8 hours of sleep.
In the light of day, I can hear these voices of emotion, spirit, reason and physical need battling it out. They continue to share the pages of my soul’s dialogue.
I’m leaving my kids for a few days away with my husband. I know that Michael will not wake at night for his beloved caregiver. I learned that lesson this summer when I slept in bunkie at our cottage while Jane slept inside on guard. Perhaps these 3 nights will break the pattern and when we return he will slumber, content in the knowledge that I remain available, but sleeping. This is my silent prayer. They say you have to pray for a miracle. This is mine.