Monday, February 4, 2013

Sleep-over, Sleep-inner

When we returned home without the baby, I'm pretty sure Hudson thought all his calls to the Bloomberg Help Desk had finally paid off.

You got rid of the baby? His puppy eyes asked, with a mixture of excitement and confusion. LET'S PLAY!

Alas, it was not to be for Hudsy, as we left again a day and a half later and returned with Henry in our arms.

In the interim, Henry had his first sleep-over at Nana-and-Papa's (one word, irrevocably coined by my now four-year-old niece) made possible by the success of my bittersweet quest to wean my little boy off the breast.

Rayne and I? You thought we went for a ski weekend, didn't you? Nope. As it turned out, the nasty Norovirus going around had other plans for my poor hubby this past week.

Instead, we brunched at a suburban diner near my parents' place before driving back to Brooklyn empty-handed. We I napped. Then we walked an hour in the dark cold to a hip, no-res bistro in Greenpoint. Because we could. We returned home via the leisurely and inexpensive subway and watched television at full volume with all the lights on. It was the cheapest date we'd had in over a year.

Then we slept from midnight to 11 am.

A-MA-ZING.

Truth be told, we both woke up well before 11 am -- me at around 8:30 am; Rayne didn't even look at the clock -- but neither even considered telling the other. We drifted in and out of dream-like states until 11:15 am.

Such silence. Was it always like this? Did our pre-parent selves simply fail to notice?

Sleep, glorious sleep. I missed Henry's little face, but not as much as I thought I would. Then again, it had only been 24 hours.

"When do you think we'll go back to sleeping in as, like, a lifestyle?" Rayne asked over pancakes at 1 pm.

I stared at him blankly. Did he mean when our children would cease to wake up at the crack of dawn? Like the teen years? Or when they were completely out of the house, i.e., twenty years from now?

"Do you think," he continued, "when Henry is a teenager, we'll all sleep in?"

"I don't know," I responded. "Theoretically. But I don't remember my parents sleeping in when I was a teenager."

"We'll sleep in, but we'll think 9 am is sleeping in."

"I think as you get older you don't want to sleep as late anymore."

Silence. My husband looked dejectedly at his half-eaten "hippie" pancake (as he calls the whole wheat/Aunt Jemima mixture I force him to make us) covered in organic maple syrup and organic cultured butter.

I thought of how my mom always says she can never sleep anymore for all the worrying she does.

"Screw it," I said suddenly. "We're going to sleep in again. Even if we're not sleeping, we're going to be that old couple who just hangs out in bed all morning."

"Okay, then."

And that was that.

We're going to be sleep-inners again some day. You heard it here first. Who's with me?




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