A Christmas Shower

The other side of early rising, is a very early bedtime. How early? Like geriatric early. There are mornings when coworkers will tell stories of absolute fatigue ... that they couldn't believe at 8:45, they just passed out on the couch. EIGHT FORTY FIVE. I nod my head. Feed their incredulity. Concur with just how much sleep they must have needed. But leave the fact that I generally turn in every night around the same time, if not earlier to myself. 

I've never shied away from an early bed time and a very calculated amount of sleep. My parents said lights out at 9:00 PM. Done. That was a hard boundary. Nothing made me more nervous growing up, than missing my bedtime and not getting enough sleep. Say, when my cousin, Meghan slept over and wanted to read an entire book in her characteristic, speed-reading ways right at 9:00. Terrible. Or at sleepovers with my friends when the clock was creeping toward 10:00 PM and there was still no mention of rolling out our sleeping bags. My temperature would rise.

Did I care about missing all that late-night stuff? Nah. The drunken antics, Harlem Globetrotting, and football player shenanigans that took place underneath my bedroom at the lacrosse house; whatever my Mom was howling at on television, my sister's late night flute concerts, the nail-biting finales to Notre Dame or Steeler games. I would just get the headlines in the morning. Bedtime was bedtime.

And when in bed, soundly tucked in, I hardly ever woke up. Only one thing could stir me: a bad dream especially later in life, when my teammates and I developed a shared reoccurring nightmare of being late to or not showing up with the right equipment for lacrosse practice, which would lead to endless conditioning sessions. Night. Mare. And there was only one thing that could make stirring, into a sleepless night. That is, the nightmare of a Christmas list gone awry. I would lay awake into the wee hours of the morning, listening for reindeer on the rooftop, sleigh bells, and Santa squeezing down our chimney, and when I was finally able to drift off to sleep, I would have bad dreams that Santa left me coal.

As I matured, and realized that Christmas would be just as merry even if I didn't get the pound puppy, American Girl doll, or new pair of shoes on my list, I was able to sleep quite soundly. And I was never sleep starved again ...

That is, until the latest pregnancy symptom shined its ugly face on me. For the past week, all the deep sleep stuff so characteristic of my personage disappeared. Which is only made more frustrating, by the fact that I married a sleeper even sounder than me.

Two nights ago, I found out that it gets worse when baby can't sleep either. I guess by combining some sort of innate pregnant woman insomnia with a little baby's first Christmas, even if it is in utero, you get a very sleepless night.
So when twas the night before our little baby's first shower.
When she would get present after present for a whole hour 
My baby started stirring, then so did I.
I couldn't get back to sleep as hard as I tried. 
Yes, the stockings were hung.
And St. Nicholas in the form of Aunts, cousins and girlfriends had come.
While my baby was doing the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies in my tummy.
I was rolling over and over again thinking, this is really crummy.

But ... the next day, when you are greeted at the door by two beautiful hostesses, nut rolls, rattle shaped cakes, friends, family, and a room full of presents to open, you rally. And suddenly, sleep or the lack thereof, is a non-issue.

And then when the wine-inspired diaper oracle speaks to you ...

You really rally. Because you realize that while dressing up a little baby in the cutest clothes, wrapping her in warm blankets and watching her stare up at her new windmill (no that's called a mobile, Lo ... oops) is going to be amazing, it will be all the thoughtfully composed moments that were written by every one in the room on a set of diapers that will make a the grogginess so worth it.  

It will be the games of itsy bitsy spider.

The marches down the stairs with Opa.

And the entrance of one more smiling face into the family picture next year. 

I think this whole not sleeping thing is because I just can't wait.

Lo.