I will be in bed in seven minutes.
I need to go to bed in seven minutes because in seven minutes it will tomorrow, and tomorrow I need to start the day bright-eyed and raring to go. Tomorrow I need to exercise first, maybe even before the children get up, have my shower, eat my breakfast, charge into the day as if it were the first day of the rest of my life.
I need to do this because I never do this. I stay up late, late, late into the night, and then cling to my morning-sleep like a drowning man to a rope. And I get up fairly late — well, very late by mummy-standards — when E1 calls me, and I put her on the toilet, and bring her back to bed with a nice cold cup of milk, and then tell/convince/cajole/beg her to let Mummy sleep a bit longer. Please, please, let me sleep a bit longer… I am soooo tired… I don’t tell her it’s my own fault. It just is what is. And we can all get up when the clock says…
She’s so good — she waits. She sleeps, or she plays. And she watches the clock. And her sister make wake, but she reads a book to Pink Lamb — I hear her through the monitor, and smile sleepily. And it’s all good — in our world, this is just how it works.
But I know that sounds wrong — deeply wrong — to most people. Statistically, the world is mostly made of morning people, and they have set the ground-rules. Early to bed, early to rise… The early bird gets the worm… (Seriously, is that last one meant to inspire me?). And that’s great — it works for them. But nightowls are actually wired differently — our brains have been shown to be active in the evenings in a mirror of the way that morning people’s brains are active in the morning and, likewise, less active in the mornings the way others’ brains are winding down in the evening. Oh, we swim against the tide, but it’s not by choice — it’s how we’re made.
And I wouldn’t have chosen it, if I could have. Life is harder as a nightowl — it doesn’t go down well. M doesn’t get it one bit — to him, it’s a crime against nature itself that I don’t have those girls up at 6am! And my mother has commented a fair few times. It looks like laziness to anyone who isn’t in the same boat. My dad has no idea how late I stay up… I dread to think what he’d make of it.
I want to change it. I do want to claw those hours back on the clock, shift our days back by three hours so they end a bit earlier and so can start a bit earlier. You know, at a decent hour, like decent folk do. I’ve been trying for a year, and I haven’t managed it. Foiled at every turn.
I explained to my mum, you can’t spend two-and-a-half years getting up with the baby once… twice… three times a night without it affecting your sleep patterns for a long time afterwards. You can’t spend the first 14 months of that child’s life never getting to sleep before 4 or 5am without it having its impact. Particularly when your body is already wired that way and goes ahead and happily sets the new pattern in stone. “Hmmm,” my mum said, her disapproval softening a bit, “I’d never thought of it that way.”
So, I go to bed early. I make myself do it even though I don’t want to, and even though there are books to read and websites to look at and bills to pay and yarns to spin. And I put it all away and go to bed — and then I stare at the ceiling. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for an hour… for two hours… for two-and-a-half, until it finally rolls around to the time I would have gone to bed normally… and then I fall asleep. It’s incredibly frustrating! But I do it because I need to claw this body-clock back to something decent. So night after night, I remain determined… and after three nights, it starts to get a bit better, like a clog in a pipe that slowly starts to break up, the sleep begins to come a bit easier… And then, just like clockwork, on the fourth night, one of the girls has me up for some reason or another once, twice, maybe three times… and I am shot away. My body conspires against me and the whole cycle starts up again. Please let Mummy sleep for another hour or two… I’m so tired… We can get up when the clock says…
But now it’s time. This time, I am going to do it. I am going to get past this and get it to work! When M went to bed, I promised him I’d be right up. Just a couple of things to do, and I’ll be in bed before midnight. I would! Which is why I have to be in bed in seven minutes, before today becomes tomorrow and the cycle starts again. Only seven more minutes.
Except that now it’s gone ten minutes to 1am.
Damn!