At 2:20 am everything is still, quiet. “Muuuuuummy!” comes the cry. “Muuuuuuuuummy!” A second cry. Then silence. My husband goes to check on him. He’s called out to me in his sleep. Now, I am wide awake. The only sound is the ceiling fan, ticking faster than my biological clock, which is saying something, because that is a time bomb that’s about to explode.
I lay there, thinking about the alarm clock going off in 2 hours. I think about Nick, is he ok? Was he having a nightmare? Did he wake up then go straight back to sleep? Is he still breathing? (For a parent of a 4 year old, I think I still worry about this far too much/often.) My thoughts drift to babies…will we have another? Am I pregnant now? When should I test? If I am, how and when will we tell everyone? What will it be? What will we call it? Where will we put the bassinet? What was that cramp? Oh great, feels like Aunt Flow coming on. I’m probably NOT pregnant, just like I haven’t been the last 24 months.
My husband tosses and turns. “Are you awake?” I whisper. The only response is a snore. All I wanted to ask was if he checked if Nick was breathing. I flip on my left, flip to the right, flat on my back. Sleep doesn’t come. I check Facebook, twitter, and finally the news to see if our Aussie boys have won Gold. Nothing.
Meanwhile the clock has clicked over to 3:20 am. A whole hour I’ve been awake. The alarm is going off in just over an hour and a half. Should I get up and watch the Olympics? It’s cold, I’d have to put my jacket on. I could check if Nick is ok and may get some more sleep on the couch. Or I can just stay here where it’s warm, and try harder. I close my eyes tighter and toss and turn some more.
Finally, sleep comes, 40 minutes before Nick is standing beside our bed, wanting to come in bed with us. A half hour later my alarm is going off. I should have got up and watched the Olympics. I wouldn’t feel as crap as I do now. My final thought as I’m ready for work, “How the hell will I get through training tonight?”