Oh it's that familiar middle-of-the-night quiet. The street is dark, and there are no sounds, and being up at this time reminds me of all of those other snow-covered dark times I used to be up, nursing and rocking babies.
Huh. I was starting to feel a little sorry for myself over this latest bout of insomnia I've had all week, but this memory has suddenly jolted me out of it as I think about how easy my life is now. I am up at 4 a.m., but tomorrow is Saturday and that means that I do not have to be up again at 6 or 7 a.m. I do not have to feed two babies every three hours, and that damn infernal pump is in the hands of some other hapless mother, so it is a middle-of-the-night sound I will never, ever have to hear again. And although I am up, I am not terrified about my future and tenure, and I am not trying to work out the mental calculus of how I will get all of my work done tomorrow despite being so exhausted that I cry without even realizing what I'm doing.
Maybe I'm awake because I'm a little sick. Or maybe it's the resurgence of those years of conditioning, becoming too accustomed to being woken suddenly from a deep sleep, adrenaline rushing through my body all at once.
Maybe it's this house decision, and my latest hesitation the consideration that we shouldn't tie ourselves to this town too tightly, not when our university system, which gets 7% of our state's funding, has to absorb 38% of the state's budget cuts for the next year. Or maybe it's the news that we'll have another 2 years of wage freezes, following the past 6 years of freezes, furloughs, and pay cuts.
--- Wild. I just heard strange child noises and went on immediate high alert, as a parent's body will automatically do in the middle of the night, waiting for that next cry, but then I realized that I was hearing a kid laughing in his or her sleep. ---
It's that continuing question we've all been grappling with over the past couple of years. Stay, and ride out the storm? Or get off before the Titanic sinks? I've been watching more and more people decide to jump ship. I can't get off if we've just bought an expensive house.
Tonight the kids were really excited about Christmas. This is the first year that they really get it, and are clued in to what is happening. A few times Milo said, this evening, that Santa was coming. Like, as in, right now -- he saw him driving up in that car out there on the street.
Also, tonight, Milo and Nora each decided on their own at separate times after dinner to go upstairs and put on their pajamas. When Milo decided to do this, I heard Nora go up with him and boss him around / encourage him as he was changing. "Now put your pants in the laundry basket, Milo. Good job!" I had a premonition of the future, one in which Nora continues to be the ring leader and Milo follows along.
I remember another 4 a.m. darkness, when Nora was 3 months old or 5 months old or 8 months old or something like that, rocking her and rocking her and gazing out the window at the inky blackness and waiting, waiting, waiting for her to fall back asleep. I remember looking at her sweet little baby head and thinking that there would be some point in the future when I would give anything to have an hour in the middle of the night to rock that baby again, to revisit that time.
This is not that time. I am gladder than ever right now that my kids put on their footie pajamas all by themselves, that they speculate together about Santa's arrival, that they thunder up and down the stairs like a herd of horses, that they crack each other up with belly laughs over their disgusting 4-year old jokes. I don't want to defile the sweetness of their babyhood, and it was sweet, but I am continuously gratified by the children they are now.