A Sleepless Slumber

The countdown is over. Quinn, the three dogs, two cats, house and garden are all in tact -- not counting my mental acumen.

For the last seven days, Quinn had to tolerate being held, fed, burped, changed, and talked to by none other than me. By the end of it, I'm certain she was questioning my sanity as I babbled and blathered on and on.

If ever there was a time for a recession, this is as good as it could get for my family's business. Normally, my folks are on the road 45+ weeks a year, but as with most industries, ours too is limping through this anemic economy. The upside, and I'm just thankful there is one, is that the one year I'm back in my parents' nest, with grandchild in tow, is also the one time they happen to be home more often than not.

This past week though, was one of work in the Rockies for my folks. While there, they also spent a few extra days with their other grandchildren, Ben and Bridget.

At first it felt like if not Quinn, I would surely go into shock from having a house full of people (with Tom and Jill in town), to no one else to pass the kid off to just so I could shower, or do something more productive -- like get the cat stoned on catnip.

But by the second day, Quinn and I had found our groove. By week's end, it wouldn't be the stress of caring for her alone that would overwhelm me, but the desire to draw out the time so I could horde her to myself a little longer.

The intensity of an infant's stare, or the grip of such miniature hands didn't mean much to me before I went through the portal of parenthood. Now, when she's unfurls her first long enough to reach out to me, or loosens the suction on her pacifier so her whole face can beam a smile in my direction, she cements a new degree of happiness into my heart.

That's an awesome feeling, but what parenthood has done for my cerebrum and coherence is still in question.

Just the other night, I had a dream I was at the firehouse and we had a call, but I couldn't find my radio. When I did find it, I became obsessed with keeping it in hand.

Invariably since leaving my job as a firefighter, my dreams have such themes, and this one seemed rather innocuous.

That is, until near dawn I sauntered into the bathroom, and while trying to avert becoming fully awake, did my thing, then reached for some toilet-paper, only to find it gone!

Not empty. Not dislodged and on the floor. It was gone.

My bleary eyes bolted open and searched the room. The toilet-paper was nowhere in sight. Adios. Bye Bye. Quite literally, I was S.O.L.

Not sure how one can be embarrassed or humiliated in complete isolation, but I managed to verify it is indeed possible. Let's just leave the remaining details as an unfortunate burden on my own memory, rather than share the pain.

What's more curious though is that two days later, I found the roll of toilet-paper. . . in my clothing closet. I hardly grab anything out of there when I'm awake; so what I was doing in there amidst a slumber remains a real mystery.

Apparently, four months of intermittent "sleep" is catching up with me, with frightening effects.

Yesterday, after searching the house, I found my cell phone. . . when a filing cabinet drawer started to ring.

Last week, before anyone even left town, I woke up just after rolling over to shut off the alarm clock. That's when it dawned on me -- I hadn't set one.

It wasn't the alarm clock I had just shut off, it was the baby monitor!

Thank goodness I realized what I had done or Quinn would have had to holler her head off before I would have risen from my wishful coma.

This little hiatus of help has made me conclude that living with others is probably less imperative for sharing the weight of watching Quinn, than it is to ensure I have even a modicum of sanity before I'm even allowed to operate the TV remote!

All the best from the cuckoo's nest,
J & Miss Q