Courting Sleep

Why is it that when you are in a hurry to get the kids to sleep, they are at their slowest? Or is it just that time really does pass slowly when you want it to go fast.I am settling down to some interesting writing when I realise it is sleep time for the kids. With my eyes on my laptop I egg them on to finish their bedtime routine on their own – wash face, brush your teeth, go to the loo. Then there is nothing to be done but to put the laptop on standby and move to the bedroom.

It’s 8.30pm.

Diapers have been put on, odomos applied and finally we are in bed.

Then follows the ritual story, which I limit to one tonight. Somedays, when we have time and I’m in the mood, it goes on to five or six.

“May I tell a story, please?” said H just as I am looking forward to some serious attempts at sleeping.
“No,” is my instinct, but I agree.

Then obviously N wants to tell a story ‘first’.
“First ladies, no mama?” says she.

So then I have to deal with who would go first. I grant first rights to H on the grounds that it was he who had come up with the idea of telling a story. Every judgement I pass has to be justified to the aggrieved party.

After a long winded tale of monsters and snakes with a few monkeys thrown in, he finally ever-afters the story. I am hoping that the rather complicated tale would have lulled N to sleep. No luck.

She is awake, barely listening to H’s story, as she awaits her turn. She eagerly launches off on a version of the How-mama-papa-got-H-and-N story for the trillionth time.

Finally it was all done.
‘Maybe they’ll sleep now,’ I pray.
“I want to tell you something,” begins H.
“No,” say I firmly, my annoyance beginning to show.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow morning,” he says sensing the threat in my voice.
“You’d better,” I reply.

I turn towards N to find her in a deep sulk.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I smiled at you and you didn’t smile back.”
‘Gawd…. !’ I am ready to scream but I tamp down my frusration. Instead I say,
‘Sorry, darling. I couldn’t see. It’s dark in here, isn’t it?”
“Let’s open the curtains,” she suggests.

Bad, bad, bad idea.

I promise to watch out for her smile in the future, put on the sweetest smile I can muster and start patting her to sleep.
With eyes closed she mutters, “Main sab ko bataoongi.. didi ko, papa ko, Rinku masi ko ki maine aap ko smile di aur aapne mujhe nahin di.” (I’ll tell everyone – did, papa, masi, that I smiled at you and you didn’t smile back).
Well too bad, I think.

I turn towards H to see he has disappeared.

I find him at the far edge of the bed, reclining. Mind you — not lying down, reclining. Like Omar Khayyam, one leg bent at the knee, staring pensively (in the dark?) at the wall and performing a silent action rhyme. I need to scream or give him a solid whack.

But wait, I tell myself. Both of those would delay sleep proceedings.
So wait some more.
Count to ten and then, “Hrit baby come here. Where are you?” All sugar and sweet!
He smiles and rolls over to sleep on my hand. God his head feels heavy but never mind if it makes him sleep early, a numb hand is a small price to pay.

Five minutes pass.
The kids are quiet. I peer at their faces – their eyes are wide open!
Sigh!
I sneak in a few frustrated smses to a friend and to my my sister.

Can’t believe not even one is asleep.

Then I feel H’s breathing evening out. I sneak a hopeful look at him.
Yesssssss!!!! Yes Yes Yes! He’s asleep.

It’s 9.15.

I turn to look at N. No luck there. Well N sometimes sleeps on her own. I decide to give it a shot. I start up from bed and tell her, “Mama’s going out, you sleep on your own, okay?”
“Why? Do you have work?” she questions.
I try not to lie. What I’m doing is not exactly work, though it might translate into work, so I say, “Not really.”
“Well go but don’t switch on the TV,” she admonishes.
She knows I like to have the TV on when I’m alone outside. I hang on to my temper with both hands.
“Why,” I query.
“Because then I’ll want to watch too,” says she coolly.

What the heck, I fume. Not only am I explaining myself to a four-year-old but also now I need her permission to watch TV.
Motherhood’s made a baby of me. I lie back frustrated. “You’ll never learn to sleep by yourself,” I grumble at her. Oblivious to my sracasm she cuddles up and says, “Don’t go till I’m faaaaast asleep.” I look at the time on my phone.

It’s 9.30.

I watch N. Her eyelids are fluttering, Sure sign that sleep’s close by. I begin to wonder how soon I can sneak out and get back to my laptop and then,
‘Aaaaahhhh’ she wails.
Her earring is caught in the cushion cover and is pulling at her freshly pierced ear. I gently distangle her, curse the day I decided to use embroidered cushion covers and the day I got her ear pierced. Don’t get me wrong. I know she’s hurt and I am comforting her but I can’t deny the niggling thought that says, “another 15 minutes gone.” God I soooo want her to go to sleep.

Finally she realises my restlessness and gives in,
“Go mama,” says she, “I’ll sleep on my own.”

I bound up from the bed,
“Thanks darling. Good girl.”
A kiss and a good night and I’m out.

It’s 9.45.

An hour and 15 minutes since I took them to bed and she’s still awake. I know she’ll drop off on her own.

I’m back at my laptop but the thoughts refuse to come. I can’t think of anything but H and N. They’re SUCH babies and they DO try my patience. But I love them. And so I’ve spent 40 minutes writing about them rather than what I should actually be writing!

PS: Who ever said I didn’t have patience… needs to speak up now.