A Restless Night

Last night wasn't a good night for restful sleep in our house.  At the end of a long, cold winter when each room needed a humidifier and each bed an electric blanket, yesterday was actually hot.  The kind of muggy air that hints it's gonna be a hot one, and it is, and everything feels sticky and we wonder how we could have wished for winter to end.

I took the electric blanket off our bed two days ago.  Winter nights in our house the thermostat goes down to 55 degrees (although for visitors we set it up into the mid-60's), and I love to sleep in a cold room with an electrically warmed bed.  Perhaps that is why our bed nearly always has at least one "extra" by morning.

As  a new doctor before I had children,  spouting my sage wisdom to moms about how to raise their kids, I often scolded the softies who wound up with children in their beds.  "Bad for the marriage!" I'd say, knowingly.  "They need to learn how to sleep on their own!"  Don't remember the reason for that one.  Gosh, I was so smart, so sure.

Then I had children.  Jacob, delivered two months early on our final "BK--Before Kids" vacation together in the Bahamas, was less than 5 pounds when we got home.   In the midst of two busy residencies and my natural optimism, it hadn't occurred to us to get prepared for a baby early.  It was unseasonably cold when we finally arrived in Columbia again. All I wanted as a new mom was to keep my baby warm and fed, and if he slept close to me, I could do both.  Very cave-womanly, I suppose, but it worked for me.  I didn't know how to do anything else--he was so tiny!--but by golly I could keep him warm and fed at the same time.  So I did.

There are some things I look back on with pride, some I look back on with wonder, and some I just shake my head about.  My mothering is one of the latter, especially my first baby.  I was finishing my stint as Chief Resident in Family Practice at the time, so had a lot more administrative hours than during my earlier rotations.  The faculty in our residency was terrific, and they adjusted my schedule so I could keep Jacob close by.  There were still meetings, though, including regular appointments with Dr. Colwill, our chair and a truly inspiring man.  A pioneer in medical education, respected by all.  But he was also grandpa to a new baby then, and we had this red-head connection, so I guess that's why he tolerated my bringing Jacob in tow to every meeting.  And keeping him warm and fed at the same time.

The intensity of my protectiveness for my kids was unexpected then, and it's sometimes unexpected now.  In the beginning it was about time, which was always insufficient.  Now it's more about knowing who or what they need to be shielded from.  What is, say, too much information for a six-year-old?  ("Intruder alert" practice at school drives me completely crazy.)  What part of politics is simply confusing for a ten-year-old?  (Or for anyone else, if we're expecting it to make sense?)  What advice about the challenges to a good marriage need to be shared with children as they get closer to those relationships themselves?

In contrast to a time long ago when I was 26 and wise, I no longer know the answers to those questions.  But this I know:  when the night is muggy and hot, and my sweet kids are restless or have nightmares, my bed is a safe haven that they are welcome to take hold of.  Waking to kids sprawled across my side of the bed, on my floor, and in front of my door is a sight I love.  And I got to see it this morning.