Mother Jekyll and Mama Hyde

Posted on 23. Nov, 2006 by Audra Pettit in Dressed Before Noon

It was a rough night. I didn’t see them do it, but I’m sure my three-year old son, his one-year-old sister, and the dog got together and planned it, each taking an assigned shift to disturb my slumber. Somehow, they even convinced my husband, on a subliminal level, to elbow me in the temple just hard enough to wake me without injury.

Our dog began the covert operation. At 12:30 a.m. she started whining to be let out. We usually don’t hear from her until morning, but someone had to signal the troops! I let her out the patio door, and I went back to bed.

At 1:30 a.m. a scream came from our toddler’s crib. I flew down the hall, and woke up mid-step in time to turn the doorknob and comfort her back to sleep. I returned to bed.

After 3:00 a.m. (I was too tired to make out anything but the first digit on the alarm clock), I woke to a small head in my armpit with the attached little boy mumbling the remains of a dream. I steered him back to his bed.

Sometime before sunrise came the elbow to my right temple, which caused me to cry out a mild expletive of disbelief. (I should mention here that I am the lighter sleeper of our parenting duo, and my husband is a very involved partner and father when not in the fierce grip of disoriented sleep).

In my exhausted state, I could have sworn I heard a sarcastic chuckle from the sunshine creeping through my bedroom window a few hours later. I dragged myself out of bed, gave my husband an exhausted, barely-puckered kiss good-bye as he left for work and prepared the kids for the drive to pre-school. On the way, I revived myself with a tall glass of ice water (and by “ice-water” I mean a 32 oz. cola) and faced the sluggish day ahead.

I wish I could say this was a rare experience. I am often amazed at the small amount of sleep on which I manage to survive. No matter how much people warn you about those sleepless nights of parenthood, there is no way to physically or emotionally prepare for them. Most nights, I go to bed unsure how long it will be before I am awakened prematurely. I often wonder which personality I will feel like by morning—Mother Jekyll or Mama Hyde?

At the end of this particularly tiring day, I fell into bed, recapped the night before to my husband, and dreamed of a better night’s sleep. As I nuzzled my head into the pillow, I felt the frustration of caring for everyone all day and night melt away, and quickly drifted into slumber.

Suddenly, I was pulled away from the approaching rest to the sound of my husband’s concerned voice.

“So what do we need to do around here to get you more sleep?”