Elasti-Mom needs her sleep. You can't stretch an elastic all the time and expect it to maintain its stretchiness. Even super elastics need to return to a relaxed state.
When our Jessica was little, sleep was a precious commodity. Rare and relished. Not only did she prefer the night life, but she was a runner back then. She figured out how to unlock the doors and wander out into the night, so we couldn't just roll over and go back to sleep when she decided it was time to play at 3 AM. We had to get up with her and at least be in the same room so we could hear the outside doors creak open. When desperation set in, we tied her closed bedroom doorknob to the doorknob of the room next to hers, so she couldn't open her door and wander through the house. Then, she screamed with her lips pressed against the crack between the floor and her door.
Gradually, as school became more of a force in her life, she learned to go to bed and stay there because exhaustion didn't give her much choice. We celebrated. With lots of wonderful, blissful sleep.
Lately, she has reverted to the night creature she once was. Now that epilepsy is also a factor in her life, this is complicated. She's not a runner anymore, a fact which I thank God for every day, but she is more likely to have seizures at night. Statistically, nine out of ten of her serious, injury-threatening seizures happen at night. Most of them happen right before she goes to bed. That becomes a problem when she waits to go to bed until five in the morning.
She also refuses to go to bed if any of us are up, so staying up so that we're close by if she has a seizure only makes her stay up later. Sometimes, it means we are there when she has a seizure, but sometimes it just means we're stretching out the inevitable. She really doesn't have seizures that often--only two or three times a month--so there are many nights when I fear that she will have a seizure and she doesn't.
Hubby and I moved our bedroom downstairs and moved all of the kids upstairs. A great idea in some respects--we can hear the kids wander around the house at night. We know when our RussMan finishes his homework and finally goes to sleep. We know when our BoBira tries to watch a video on a school night. We hear every creak of the stairs as Jessica goes up and down. We know when Jessica is practicing her OCD behaviors--put down the cup, put down the cup, put down the cup--click after click on the tile counter. Like I said, a good thing in some respects. Not so great in others.
When I know it's been a while since her last seizure, I am on "high alert." Listening for her to fall, or to make the whimpering sounds she makes when a seizure first comes on. Every bump in the night becomes a potential problem, a rush out of bed to catch her and protect her head before she hurts herself. I don't like high alert. It's too stretchy for too long. Even after I fall asleep, the slightest sound wakes me up. And while I'm falling asleep, every little sound is magnified. I'll sit upright in bed and Jason will say, "everything's fine". (He's a night creature too, so it seems like he's always awake. You'd think that would help me relax, but it doesn't always work that way.)
This morning, when I got up at 4:45 to tell Jessica to go to bed--I heard the cup, saw the kitchen light peeking beneath my bedroom door, heard the creak of the floor beneath Jessica's feet--she yelled at me, "No!" Then, she proceeded to drink a 32 ounce glass of water, which means that even if she goes to bed she'll be up to pee in an hour or so. I'm only 15-20 pounds bigger than she is now. I can't exactly pick her up and put her in bed like I used to. If she doesn't want to go to bed, she won't go to bed. Which means I get up and blog for a while.
I think, today, Elasti-Mom will need a nap.
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