Sleep talk

There are not many things that I miss from my early twenties, mainly because I remember being broke all the time and my parents treating me like a teenager, regardless of the number of candles they had placed on my birthday cakes. However, if I could bring a few things back, first would definitely be my metabolism, closely followed by my waistline.

Of all the things our thirty-something minds reminisce about the less complicated adult years - not having to chalk out meals every day, having friends available for impromptu plans, not having to deal with the house help, no back aches, no calcium deficiencies, the one that I most frequently find myself thinking about in recent years are- the nights. The limitless nights where my brain believed it had the capacity to engulf the entire syllabus for an exam scheduled for the next morning, nights where the hours expanded conveniently to binge watch a tv series, nights which witnessed the eyelids fighting battles to stay elevated while the eyeballs scampered across the pages of thriller novels.

Despite juggling through classes, assignments and tuitions all day, there would still be abundance of stored energy reserved for the inky sacred hours. Energy to be deposited at whim - to slide from one chat conversation to the next on MSN (no Gen Z, it is not THAT long ago), to join aimless yet exhilarating group calls with friends, to weep through some somber ones for life suddenly felt unfair, and the most precious- to dive into hours of romantic phone calls where promises and dreams were exchanged.

Do I want any of it back? No, not really. New priorities, deepened patience, groomed taste, have all joined forces to incorporate the developed versions of these options into a more practical lifestyle. As dull and unoriginal of a pick it may be, practical is exactly the word, just like mature, reliable, responsible and all other adjectives that have shown up because the shift to the new advanced age bracket requires them to. Had this evolved adult that I am claiming myself to be, got a chance to meet my former self now, I would really like to ask why I did not use the nights to do what it was originally meant for. Why didn't I sleep? Is it because sleep then seemed like a mere waste of invaluable time?

Or maybe the ability to nap as I pleased throughout the day made up for this indiscretion. Or the superpower of functioning effortlessly with barely any rest, thanks to all the leftover teenage energy still lingering in the body, enough to not take sleep seriously. Oh but, sleep I did, I remember waking up on days to find lunch being served, or skipping dinner and falling asleep because I just had to or even better, wanted to. What now baffles me is why I had then willingly given up the opportunity to sleep at will.

After going through two pregnancies in a span of three years, childbirths and taking care of two human beings always demanding attention, I have absolutely no memory of how it feels to sleep five to six hours at a stretch. Hence, current circumstances have induced this extreme annoyance towards my younger self for not utilising night-time right.

There are hours when both children are asleep, and my body finally lets go. With one grabbing my arm, the other snuggled on my chest, I slowly readjust the pillows and the blankets. I gently position the children where they are meant to be, drag my tired self and lay my back on the mattress. My body moans in joy, eyelids finally sigh in relief, ready to bid adieu and drop curtains for the night- I let them believe we are there, a touch away from sweet escape, only to shamelessly betray them.

I choose to explore Facebook posts and Instagram reels, check unread messages, look up scandalous events on YouTube, even seek verifications in Wikipedia that just cannot wait the night, over the needs of my weary body. "Just a couple of minutes it'll take", I promise myself. Why? Because- finally, finally I can watch or read or simply look at something with full concentration. Not while holding a restless baby, not with a toddler wailing because the toy car went forward not backwards, not while gulping down a cold lunch, not while being constantly nudged and stroked by tiny hands and feet. So yes, I fight sleep a little longer for such trivial indulgences, for a few moments of conscious peace, only to be jerked back to exhausting reality by a whimpering baby who needs to be fed and a mumbling toddler who needs his blanket to be rotated.The next morning, my brain to my body is like my husband to me after an impromptu boys' night out on a weekend. Apologies and regrets- waiting to be repeated all over again.

Wait, then what changed? Why am I criticising my actions dating years back? Here is what it really is. It is not the sleep I miss from the glorious youth of mine, it is the chance to choose. The reasons behind the choices. The scope to decide whether to use the nights for innumerable wonder sprees or surrender to sweet sweet slumber. Because one thing that I absolutely do not have now is the liberty to simply follow a wish of my own. My children decide when and how long I get to sleep, whether or not I deserve to rest. Resting now is luxury, sleep is unattainable, relaxation is yearned for.

I know this will pass, I'll be looking back at these nights where two people depended on me exclusively for comfort. I may be waking up every morning still exhausted, but I am greeted good morning with beautiful toothless grins, warm hugs and gentle kisses. Sooner than I would like, I'll have long stretches of nights completely to myself again, where no one will question or object to my choices, I will be free to lay awake and welcome dawn or cocoon myself in a blanket and dose off without a second thought. But, there won't be a crib parallel to my bed or a tiny pillow beside mine. I'll be left alone, but my heart will be lonely. So for now, this is alright. This utterly sleep deprived mother will enjoy the most precious company in the world, till time permits.