This I Believe

For the past two years, my students have done a unit based on NPR's "This I Believe". They have to write personal belief essays and then we had them record and share with the class. If you want more infomation on  it check out ThisIBelieve.org.  Here is the essay I wrote this year:

I believe in sleep deprivation.

 It’s an all too familiar scene in my household with two babies under two years old. Just as I am finally falling asleep after a long day, I hear my little girl whining in her adjacent bedroom. She’s lost her “blankie” and cries out for me to come help her. I give her a few minutes to find it herself all the while secretly hoping my husband will wake up and go in before me. After realizing that is a hopeless case (he’s like a hibernating bear and only an earthquake could rouse him), I saunter into her room and find her blanket that has fallen on the floor. Once her blankie is securely in her arms, she is quiet and quickly drifts back to sleep. I kiss her warm cheek, tell her I love her one more time, and then stroll back into bed.

A few hours later my little boy starts crying hysterically; he is not feeling well and is up frequently through the night. Again I wait for a few minutes, hoping our months of effort in sleep training have paid off, but tonight we have no avail. I sleepily make my way into the kitchen to make a bottle, and then find my way through our dark hallway to his bedroom. Once I turn on his light, the sound of hysterical crying is replaced by a relieved sigh. He’s standing in his crib holding his favorite blanket with tears streaming down his face. I pick him up, take him to the rocking chair, and immediately he nestles into my arms and drinks away.

Many mothers complain about having to wake up in the middle of the night, but I secretly love this time. I love that the world is quiet.  I love that after a long day of juggling the many demands of my life, it’s just the two of us. I love that he looks up at me with his big, brown eyes, and we have a whole conversation without saying a word. I love that after a few ounces into his bottle of warm milk his eyes start to become too heavy to keep open. And after a while his breathing is slow, rhythmical, and he is content. His eyelids flutter and I know he is officially asleep.

It’s not so much that I enjoy losing sleep; it’s the time I get to spend with my children alone. My children trust me; they know that I will be there to take away whatever fear, sickness, or frustration they have. The next morning when I’m tired and struggling to get through another day, I remind myself that the sleep deprivation won’t last. My babies will learn to sleep through the night. In a few years they will be too embarrassed to say that they sleep with a “blankie.” They won’t remember the countless hours we spent rocking in their chair, but I will. I will look back someday and wish I could be sleep deprived again.

This I believe.