The grueling schedule of nursing AND formula supplementing two babies—every three hours—plus the diaper changes, burping, and more diaper changes gave me about four separate ONE HOUR increments of sleep. Per day. For months. On end.
(Remember those old Dunkin’ Donut commercials from the eighties? “Time to make the donuts…I made the donuts. Time to make the donuts...” That was me. But instead the catch phrase was, “Time to feed the babies…I fed the babies.”)
There is sound reason why militaries around the world use sleep deprivation techniques to torture captives. Because it is most definitely torture. And their captives typically aren’t even hormonal and lactating.
So at about 2 a.m. on the night in question, I fed, burped and diapered the babies (again), but they wanted nothing to do with sleep. After forever and a day of rocking them, they finally drifted off. However—as if an instinctual alarm would sound in her little brain—as soon as I took off my glasses and pulled the blanket up to my chin, Abby’s eyes burst open, followed by completely uncalled for screaming. This of course, woke her sister, Reagan. This was the umpteenth night of this most unflattering behavior from my precious bundles of joy. At this point in my mothering career, it had been about 10 weeks since I had experienced REM sleep. I L-O-S-T IT.
It started as a slow whimper, and then crescendoed into stucco rumbling wails. My poor husband—who had just become accustomed to sleeping through the nightly ruckus—scrambled into the room as if the smoke detectors were blaring. I think I shed a few years, or at least days, off his life that night. He was relieved that we were not physically hurt, and a tad perturbed with me for not getting him before I had a mini nervous breakdown; as if I planned it...geez.
On that night, as well as a few (okay…several) other instances in the following weeks, I believe that God caused me to LOSE IT, sending out an SOS when I was too proud to ask for help for myself. As the time I blamed it on everything from the hormones to the culture shock of my world turned upside down. Now, I can see God’s hands, rocking me as I rocked my babies. I had absolutely no idea why they were crying, but my Heavenly Father understood why I was; and He sent help.Thank you Jesus—for knowing what I need, at the precise moment I need it.