While a good night’s sleep may never cure all that ails you, there are few obstacles that don’t seem quite so insurmountable after eight peaceful hours.
Which is why life seems so very harsh right now as I lie here – wide eyed, mind racing, heart palpitating – while the house is so quiet you could hear a nappy being soaked.
Before motherhood I experienced mild insomnia, as they call it – bouts of sleeplessness due to temporary anxiety that last three, four days at most. But months of night-waking, breastfeeding, worrying about my newborn sleeping on her tummy in the next room, sprinkled with some lingering jetlag and a partner prone to snoring so loud it sounds put on mean that these days I am unable to achieve that satisfying nirvana we’ve worked so hard to bring our children: a full night’s uninterrupted sleep.
The discussion with my GP was oddly familiar. “Make sure you use your bed only for sleep,†he said. “Follow a bedtime ritual.†A warm bath was recommended. A soporific story on the bedside table. Cosy pyjamas and temperature control. Warm milk. Exercise. Fresh air in daylight. It slowly became clear that if I were ever going to see another REM cycle, I would have to sleep-train myself.
In the end I took the GP’s advice, plus I cut out naps and caffeine. And for good measure I sought out a prescription for sleeping tablets, which were, frankly, superb: one page into Dreams from My Father and I was lost in my own euphoric reveries.
And then, as if they could sense their mother had turned her attention elsewhere, the kids awakened, one after the other, wanting a piece of you know who.
Which has afforded me some time to write this column but made my day a total write-off.
Ellen Himelfarb is a freelance writer and mother of two. You can reach her at ellen.h@mac.com
