I remember having a conversation with my brother after my niece Rachael was born. She was a few weeks old at this point, and Barry was looking a little haggard, but no worse than to be expected. I was twenty years old, and I asked the most important question I could think of about parenthood: “How are you doing without the sleep?”
He said, “After a while, you realize you just don’t need it.”
Fast-forward fourteen years and that’s proved true. Sort of. My brother has a far greater capacity than I do for getting by without much sleep, and I haven’t turned out to be the superstar he’s been in that regard, but I’ve definitely learned to get by with a lot less. For at least the first three weeks, admittedly, I did not cope well with the sleeplessness. But after that, something happened. Things just… got better. Maybe my body realized that this is the new normal. And it’s not that I don’t feel tired, but I’ve just found a way to push that fatigue off to the side somewhere. I don’t nod off at my desk. I don’t find myself doing the shambling zombie walk. And I don’t superfly my pillow the second that Teddy falls asleep at night.
But let’s get back to that ‘sort of.’
Learn to lose about ten to twelve hours of sleep each week and you can still be a functioning human, but you lose a lot. You'll find that your memory's shit (and mine was already terrible to begin with). You retell stories to the same person three days in a row. You can have a conversation with someone—one that you've actively participated in—and forget what you just talked about in it's entirety only minutes later. You find yourself grasping to recall very simple words. "What's that thing will the pages? It's bound. There's, uh, all kinds of words inside it and stuff. Oh, right! Shit! A book!" On top of this, you forget how to be creative and to innovate. Minus the sleep, you can still be pretty good at things you know concretely how to do, but when it comes to learning something new or forging a path in unfamiliar territory (figuratively, but probably also literally), you're pretty much screwed.
But don't cry for me, Argentina—the sleepless times are pretty much my own doing. At this point, Teddy has a fairly reliable schedule and (night feedings aside) he leaves me lots of time for sleep. I just don't take advantage of the opportunity. I'll always squeeze in extra hour or two of wakefulness when I can, and while one day doesn't matter so much, it has a compounding effect as the days go on.
As of this moment in time, I'm in pretty good shape. I was rough as hell last week, with Teddy going through his stormy eighteenth week (more on that later), but I've had a few solid, smart nights of sleep since the weekend, so I'm good to go again. Don't worry, though—I'm sure I'll screw myself over real soon and I end up feeling like garbage again. By Thursday at the latest.
He said, “After a while, you realize you just don’t need it.”
Fast-forward fourteen years and that’s proved true. Sort of. My brother has a far greater capacity than I do for getting by without much sleep, and I haven’t turned out to be the superstar he’s been in that regard, but I’ve definitely learned to get by with a lot less. For at least the first three weeks, admittedly, I did not cope well with the sleeplessness. But after that, something happened. Things just… got better. Maybe my body realized that this is the new normal. And it’s not that I don’t feel tired, but I’ve just found a way to push that fatigue off to the side somewhere. I don’t nod off at my desk. I don’t find myself doing the shambling zombie walk. And I don’t superfly my pillow the second that Teddy falls asleep at night.
But let’s get back to that ‘sort of.’
Learn to lose about ten to twelve hours of sleep each week and you can still be a functioning human, but you lose a lot. You'll find that your memory's shit (and mine was already terrible to begin with). You retell stories to the same person three days in a row. You can have a conversation with someone—one that you've actively participated in—and forget what you just talked about in it's entirety only minutes later. You find yourself grasping to recall very simple words. "What's that thing will the pages? It's bound. There's, uh, all kinds of words inside it and stuff. Oh, right! Shit! A book!" On top of this, you forget how to be creative and to innovate. Minus the sleep, you can still be pretty good at things you know concretely how to do, but when it comes to learning something new or forging a path in unfamiliar territory (figuratively, but probably also literally), you're pretty much screwed.
But don't cry for me, Argentina—the sleepless times are pretty much my own doing. At this point, Teddy has a fairly reliable schedule and (night feedings aside) he leaves me lots of time for sleep. I just don't take advantage of the opportunity. I'll always squeeze in extra hour or two of wakefulness when I can, and while one day doesn't matter so much, it has a compounding effect as the days go on.
As of this moment in time, I'm in pretty good shape. I was rough as hell last week, with Teddy going through his stormy eighteenth week (more on that later), but I've had a few solid, smart nights of sleep since the weekend, so I'm good to go again. Don't worry, though—I'm sure I'll screw myself over real soon and I end up feeling like garbage again. By Thursday at the latest.
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