As I type this, my dear cousin has a little one who has been fighting sleep for whatever reason. Hearing about her struggle and frustration while she tries to help her little one to be comfortable and prays for a chance to rest herself, it brings back memories of when my children were little.
On airplanes mothers are instructed to put on their own air masks before helping their children if there is an emergency. This may seem like common sense to some, but for many years I found this deeply offensive. It took my children getting older and my own mother explaining the concept multiple times before I finally understood: we have to take care of ourselves in order to be able to help others. A true concept but, particularly in the case of mothers with small children, easier said than done.
I recall two separate doctor's visits when my son was a baby. First, I went to see the doctor. I described my strange and frustrating symptoms: unclear thinking, no energy, grouchy, headaches... etc. and this wise doctor looked at me and told me all that was wrong with me was that I needed to sleep. I recall staring at him, only one word clear in my own mind: DUH. This was not news to me. What followed was quite simply a comical attempt on my part to get answers for a question that there appears to be no answer to. The question: HOW?
The next doctor's visit I had given up on myself feeling better and was hoping that the doctor could help me with my grouchy baby. My son admirably displayed all his symptoms for the doctor to see with his own eyes, and when the doctor began to type in a prescription I began feeling very hopeful. Perhaps there was something wrong with this little guy that could be fixed with some medicine and he would sleep? Alas, when I asked the doctor what he was prescribing, he informed me that he was giving my son cough medicine. Of course, I asked why. After all, my son was not congested or coughing. The answer stunned me. Cough medicine would make him drowsy which would then make him sleep so I could get some sleep. I walked out without the medicine and changed doctors. I suppose that is one way to get a child to sleep, but is it worth drugging our little ones for us to snag a couple extra hours??
Obviously, lack of sleep for young mothers is not an uncommon problem. When we consider the fact that, particularly once there is more than one child involved, the mother is outnumbered and those little ones are busier planning ways to keep her busy than they are ways to help her relax, the problem is inevitable. I vividly recall one 24 hour period in which my youngest was teething, my middle child was becoming a pro at getting through any child-proofing locks, and my oldest was happily chattering away about anything and everything. I got no sleep beyond catnaps in the rare, miraculous moments when all three children were sleeping. And I recall that feeling of hopelessness, that irrational thought that I would never sleep again and I was a terrible mother.
My younger sister has mentioned several times being told that she needs to get more sleep for her health. And we have pondered the question of how. I have taken her little ones when I can to give her some extra sleep, but it is never enough.
Within the last couple years I read a book that an old friend recommended entitled 'The Red Tent'. While it was fantastically written and there are many topics I could bring up about it, the thing that strikes me most was the way that these people lived. The book was set in Biblical times when families lived very close together. Children were raised with aunties, grandmas, and many other women readily available and had constant playmates in siblings and cousins. If one woman needed to rest or was sick, others simply took over, even nursing her little one while she took care of herself. Granted, men in those times generally took many wives so the other women were often their dad's other wives, but nevertheless, the set-up remedied this issue young mothers face today. It seems that in our pursuit of privacy we have created problems.
We try to do it all ourselves. We feel like we should be able to keep the house clean, look like supermodels, keep the little ones happy and clean, maintain a 'perfect' relationship with our spouses, volunteer our time at church and school, cook like pros, and pursue hobbies. Some women even work full time jobs on top of these expectations. We feel guilty when we inevitably fail. We feel bad asking for help. And, heaven forbid that we admit we might not have it all under control. The reality (based on my own experiences and talking with other moms)? Ponytails to keep unwashed hair out of our faces (and babies fists), showers just before hubby gets home so he's not totally appalled (if we're lucky), toys and stuff crammed into closets and cupboards if someone shows up at the door unexpectedly, mac n cheese, and a regularly sleep deprived mind.
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