Saturday, June 25, 2016

The Gift of Sleep

This is how she sleeps - between us. Three gray-haireds all in a row.

Cub Sweetheart is not a good sleeper. Never has been and likely never will be. I, on the other hand, am a professional. On any given night I'm out cold within less than a minute. If something is really bugging me I might lie there for 5 minutes, but I'm more like Scarlett, from Gone With the Wind, "“I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.”

I think it's genetic - my mother does the same thing. The last time she came for a visit, after 11 hours of not a sound from her bedroom, I went and checked on her. I nudged her with my finger and then watched her chest to be sure it was rising and falling. It was. Having inherited her talent for sleeping makes it easier for me to forgive her that one black, pesky chin hair I got from her also. People have a variety of talents and skills, which might include a good sense of direction, being mechanical or a tendency toward understanding all things mathematical. They might be inclined to whistle, hoolahoop, dance, or pronounce words correctly without having heard them. I have none of those, but what I could win a gold medal for is sleeping.

It doesn't hurt that I wear glycerine ear plugs. Many years ago, someone unnamed started snoring, and now both of us occasionally snore, but only one of us actually has to put up with it. That someone is not me.

So, par for the course, last night I turned back the covers, climbed into bed, popped in my little ear plugs, put my head on the pillow, snuggled my little dog up next to me and instantly dropped off to sleep. It's what I do.

Later, CS came into the bedroom to get ready for bed. He tells me he glanced over and saw both of us girls sound asleep, and he went into the bathroom to do his nightly routine. As he was behind closed doors, running the water in the sink, splashing, he heard the most awful sound, so he came out of the bathroom to be sure I was okay.

Sound asleep. Not moving a bit. Right next to me Lily was standing up in the bed, making an awful racket of violent retching. In spite of the fact she does not shed, he said it sounded like she was trying to bring up the world's largest hairball.

He swooped her up, set her on the bedroom floor, stood and watched for a bit until he determined that whatever it was, it was no longer a problem, then laid her back in the bed next to me. He went back into the bathroom, closed the doors and continued getting ready for bed. Came out of the bathroom, turned back the covers on his side, climbed in next to us girls, and laid there for his usual amount of time, attempting to go to sleep, all the while I'm lights out, next to him, not moving a muscle.

It's what I do. And some things in life are  just not fair.

Sidenote: Last week, when we were in Austin, we stayed in a lovely hotel, at the end of a corridor that looked like it would be very quiet. At 10 pm I was lights out. At 11 pm CS followed me, but the bed covers were too heavy (he's not a fan of down comforters). At midnight, right when he'd finally found another choice of bedding in the room closet, and fallen asleep, the people staying next door started up their in-room party. That kept up until 3 am, when they finally all passed out or went to their own rooms. I, however, was sleeping with earplugs, so when I woke up 10 hours later from a lovely night's sleep, I was surprised to hear his had been less than stellar. Everyone should wear ear plugs! Twice a week, when those garbage trucks beep their back-up beeps at 6 am? Earplugs! Look for the little clear boxes of them at your drugstore - the type people wear to keep water out of their ears when they're swimming. They also work well on airline flights when babies near you are fussy.

No comments: