For the first 4 years of Jensen’s young life, he did not sleep through the night. There were many issues at hand, the least of which were his bouts of Atopic Dermatitis which kept him up due to all the scratching.
It isn’t until I read back through old blog posts that I really grasp what we went through with him. Thank goodness that what I lack in the ability to privately journal, I make up for in my quest to live my life out loud on the pages of this blog. Without the documentation, I would blissfully forget, and chalk it up to the fact that my children sucked all the really good brain cells out during the breast feeding period.
So pretty much for the first 4 years, I was a walking zombie. When we finally got a handle on his disease and treatment, he was able to get through the night without waking.
And that meant some much needed beauty sleep for me. Albeit less blog fodder, like this one which is perhaps my favorite. But I’ll happily sacrifice a good post for REM sleep.
Last night Jensen crept into our room no fewer than 4 times. And each time he would come to my side of the bed and I would feel the tap tap tap of his little pointer finger on my shoulder. After I extricated myself from the ceiling fan, each time, he informed me that he had a bad dream. And dutifully, his father escorted him back to bed each time.
And for the record, I blame myself for allowing the sisters to talk him into watching Spy Kids 3 with them earlier in the day. I just thought it was a tender sibling moment to see all 3 of them hunkered down on Emme’s bottom bunk watching on the tiny DVD player. Together.
A rare moment void of bickering, pinching, and insult hurling.
It now occurs to me that a movie of that type is far too intense for a sensitive little guy who generally enjoys the entertainment that only the Backyardigans can deliver.
So, pretty much, today was a mental wash for the adults in the household.
At one point the sisters were asking Jensen about his bad dreams. While his father and I were trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. He asked us if we were expecting any thunderstorms tonight, and we assured him that we were not.
Then he reported to us that his dreamed involved Mommy driving all of us in the car, wherein we were struck by lightning, and all died.
Fiddledaddy brightened and added that in that case, we would all be in heaven together and the story had a happy conclusion after all. The end. Time for bed.
Jensen looked up at him sternly, “Nope” he stated. And with hand gestures used to guide a boeing 747 into a hanger, he continued, “We all went to hell.”
I surmised that since I was driving, the trip to hell was probably singularly due to my mental cuss jar. And what luck, which is full to capacity especially when I’m awakened from a sound sleep.
Cailey went all scientific on everyone and explained that lightning cannot strike the car since we are protected by the rubber tires. Which is not exactly true, as it has more to do with the framing, but whatever. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t buying it.
This experience did make me frolic down memory lane a bit, and then bolt right back to the present, where I am thankful to have survived those first 4 years and all the sleep deprivation. Which in itself, must be very much like hell.
Moms of newborns, can I hear an amen?