So, um, have I mentioned the bit of trouble Oliver has had with sleep over the years? I have? Have I told you what a complete crisis it feels like when you and your child, and your husband and your other children aren't getting the kind of sleep that you need? If I were a detainee and this was some kind of sleep deprivation tactic I would have confessed long ago. I would have folded completely and moved to the other side of any ideological border. But, sadly, the only thing asked of me was the one thing that was the hardest: that I keep going, putting one foot in front of the other and trying to look like a normal person. The weird part, I suppose, is how used to it you get. You barely mention it to the people you know in real life. No words could really convey the enormity of seven years of lost sleep.
But in the last seven years I.have.been.tired. They say the Eskimos have a hundred words for snow. I've got a thousand for tired.
So Nik and I set out on a mission to solve the riddle of the missing sleep. Step One was our Clonidine trial, which was a dismal failure. Step Two was a referral to a sleep clinic.
But somewhere between Step One and Step Two, sleep happened. Curiously, the sleep started the night we became Clonidine free.
As of last night we have slept every single night -- all night long. Fifteen nights in a row. 15. More than two weeks.
I don't know if this will last but I sense somehow that things have shifted for my boy.
If you have some wood handy, now would be a good time for you to knock on it for me.