As a kid, I remember my mother being an insanely light sleeper. It would not be at all uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night, pad into their bedroom and just stand there – knowing that it was prohibited for me to wake them up for something as trivial as warning them of the three-headed axe-wielding alien laying in wait outside my window. Instead I would just stand there. Being in their presence for 5 or 10 minutes would inevitably allow me the courage to head back to bed with the confidence that I would not be eaten in my sleep. This time.

More times than not, the next morning the conversation would go a little like this:

Mom: “Why did you come into our room last night?”
Me: “How did you know I was there?”
Mom: “I could hear you breathing.”

I have been a fairly solid sleeper most of my life, and as I neared the end of my pregnancy with Stella I began to wonder how that would impact my ability to tend to the nightly rituals of feeding and whatnot. Along with the many other physiological changes that take place once one becomes a mother, sleep habits become irretrievably fouled. I now wake up at the sound of Stella’s footsteps before she even leaves her bedroom. Basically, I can hear her breathing.

So you will understand how disturbed I was this morning when I woke up with the distinct feeling that sometime during the night I was abducted by aliens. Here is what I remember. I went to bed at 10-ish, and at some point I remember waking up realizing that not only was Steve to my right, but Stella was to my left (first of all, how did she get there, and secondly, why is it I am always the one stuck in the middle?). Then, there was some point at which I heard Porter making his thumb-chewing noise. Then, the next thing I know, it is 6:15, I am alone in bed and Steve is telling me to get up, already. And all I can think is Where is Stella? How did she get into our bed? When did she get into our bed? When did she get out of our bed? Did Porter sleep all night? COULD SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?

Steve said that he got up with Stella twice, and then at 12:30 I let her get into bed with us (which, knowing my policy on this issue, he said completely baffled him). Porter got up at 4:30, and when Steve put him back to bed at 5:30, he moved Stella into her bed. Then, she didn’t get up until almost 7:00! AS IN, 2 HOURS PAST 5:00! Okay, this is just getting wierd.

So can someone please explain to me how he who sleeps with a giant, noisy wind machine strapped to head head wakes up for all this activity and I don’t? Was there a roofie slipped into that handful of M&M’s I ate after dinner? And, NO, I know what you are all thinking: I wasn’t drinking!

I guess, instead of obsessing about all of this I should be rejoicing. My son slept from 8 to 4:30 without the aid of any painkillers, I was able to actually sleep with my daughter in bed next to me, and I clocked 8 straight hours of sleep with only some minor disturbances.

Maybe I’ll have a shirt made: I was abducted by aliens and all I got was a good night’s sleep

The winner of last night’s sleep-off was Porter – but purely in terms of consecutive sleep hours, which was 8. Nevermind that it was from 7:00pm to 3:00am. From that point on it was just two more hours of fruitless attempts at getting him back to sleep.

Stella’s cumulative sleep time will never be actually known, but from the time the lights were turned out, until the time she was finally granted permission to be “up” at 5:15am (new time) she emerged from her bedroom no less than a dozen times. To be truthful, I don’t know if she ever actually slept at all.

Steve and I probably, each, garnered between four or five hours. There was even one point (at about 3:30 am) when all four of us were up and roaming the house.

As of 7:00am this morning, Porter is already back in bed taking a nap, Stella has watched two Wonder Pets videos, we have listened to the most recent podcast version of Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me, and Steve has spent the entire morning seranading me with something he created based on the opening riff of Rock Lobster, wherein he spells D-E-N-N-Y-aPOStrophE-S. He even told me that if we all went dressed as we were (me, of course in my pajamas, and going on my second day without a shower), he would buy me a new pair of shoes. I am sorry, but no matter how sleep deprived I am, I am not willing to trade my dignity for a new pair of Danskos.

One of the reasons Steve is so obnoxiously chipper is that today is The Day. A day, to him, better than all gift-giving holidays rolled into one: the return to Standard Time. No, this has nothing to do with what time it gets light, or that he has some strange vendetta against Daylight Savings Time. To a man with the thorough tendencies that he possesses, there is nothing better than the day he is allowed the celestial opportunity to get up and methodically change every single timekeeping device in our possession. I fear, however, that this holiday (yes, in Steve’s world, this is a holiday) is being diluted with the advances of technology. I could hear the crest-fallen tone in his voice as he attempted to change the time on his cell phone only to find that it updates automatically. This is also true with the computers. He hasn’t checked yet, but I think he is a tiny bit concerned that the VW will also have reset itself. This is a car, after all, that will alert you when the temperature drops below 39 degrees so you know to watch out for icy conditions. I wonder if I can program it to get up with my children at night? Ah, but I digress.

So here we are. Again. Me, complaining about the fact that I am this far from standing on the corner holding a sign that says Will Work For Sleep, Steve, celebrating the opportunity to touch all the doorknobs, and my children, reminding us that being a parent – first and foremost – requires an enduring and impenetrable sense of humor.

Oh, and I’ve gotta go, because Porter’s up again.

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Update: So how’s this for irony? After reading this post, Steve informed me that I hadn’t updated the timestamp on my blogging software. See? I’m not kidding, people.
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