All three of my children are bathed, brushed, coated with fluoride and drifted off past The Emerald City into dreamland.
It’s a beautiful sight.
Two weeks ago at 9:15, Logan was in the middle of his day and Brodie was just waking up from a nap. Their schedules were flipped completely upside down from about June on. Even Elizabeth decided 2 or 3 am was the perfect time for a party from time to time, dancing in the living room after the Tylenol for teething kicked in or following her dad around the house as he ironed his clothes and drank his morning coffee.
I would get up, too, or maybe I was already up because I just left work an hour or so before, and the three of us were all alone for about an hour. It was nice, actually. Jeremy and I sort of drowsy and Logan, his pre-bed-talk-a-mile-a-minute-self, rattling on and on about Minecraft this or Lego that. He got us. Just the two of us. At 3 in the morning, maybe, but he got us all to himself, none the less.
Tonight, watching them all sleep, I know that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It took Jeremy and I a few extra hours of engaging our kids, a couple of rounds around the neighborhood on their scooters, a couple of races around the church parking lot down the street, and they were passed out by 9. But, there was a time last week, where I let the comments get to me. The things about them not having ‘normal’ sleeping habits, about my whole house being ‘backward.’ I let them get to me. I worried about them. I stayed up a little longer each night worrying myself to death about what other people think, what other people say, what other people consider ‘normal.’
Eight years into this motherhood gig and I still do that from time to time, this horrible thing that is worrying about what other people consider right, consider normal, what we should be doing. It’s exhausting. So exhausting in fact that it often keeps me from doing what I actually want to do because I get too worried about what other people think I should be doing.
It’s a vicious cycle, people.
I talked to Jeremy. I talked to my mom. Mom reminded me, as she’s done my whole life, that Normal is just a setting on the dryer, that what works for one doesn’t work for the other. She reminded me, as she’s done my whole life, that I was fine just the way I was, that my kids were fine just the way they were. Mom reminded me that the only Normal I should be concerned with is the one my kids have. The Normal they need is the one where they wake up, whether at 7am or 4pm, and their mother is there. When they were ready, Mom said, they’d all flip their schedules back around.
She was right.
Jeremy reminded me that our kids were just fine. He reminded me that I just told him how nice it was to get both Logan and Brodie to themselves for a big chunk of the day. Logan did nights, Brodie did Mornings. Everyone was happy. No fighting. No competing. No struggling for the attention of their already sleep messed up mother who had no problem being alert and attentive during both shifts.
He was right.
Maybe I’ll never have normal sleeping habits. Maybe my kids won’t either. But, the good news is, they sleep. They sleep long and they sleep hard and they’re happy and healthy and thriving.
I just wish I could remember that all the time. But, the truth is, I worry. A lot. I confessed to my Bff, Megan the other day that I wanted to write a post about our summer but I was embarrassed that my oldest kid stayed up all damn night, embarrassed that my 4 year old napped from 5pm until 9pm. She assured me I had nothing to be embarrassed about, told me even her two kids stayed up past midnight the night before, and, still, I worry.
Why do I work myself up so much? Why do I worry about what the people across the street or across town or across the internet are going to think about the way The Nunns sleep? Who gives a damn?
And I hate myself for it. And I’m trying to fix it. And it’s one of those things that I’m going to keep working on because that’s what I do. I work on stuff. Maybe for years and years and to no avail but, I work on it. I’m determined to work on the worry. The constant worry about whether or not I’m Normal and my kids are Normal and just worry about being Us. The way we are.
Who’s rule is it that you are supposed to sleep from 8 to 8 anyway?
Not ours. Some of our best work happens when everyone else is sleeping and some of our best sleep happens when everyone else is working.
We’re alright. We’re all alright.
Happy Tuesday, Friends.
go. do. be.