But no. I’m waking, and still trying to clear the sleep-fog out of my brain. “What month is it? Who am I? Where am I? Which room?” Completely awake now, I try to focus my eyes and read the digital clock across the bedroom. It’s 11:00 p.m. and the first migration of the night has already occurred. One silently flew south and I didn’t hear a thing. I just woke up with a middle-sized child leg wrapped around my neck. Go through the check-list: Shove her over—check. Nurse the baby—check. Change the baby’s diaper. Check. Go to the bathroom—check. Crawl back in bed—check. Shove her over again—check. Baaaack toooo sleeeeep. Ahhhh….
2:17 am. Back awake and now we’re both heading north. First stop, the bathroom. Second stop, the girls’ room with a shorter check-list to complete: Shove her over—check. Shove her over again—check. Baack tooo sleee…
4:11 am. “Waaaa, waaaaaa.” It’s the baby calling from the other room. My turn to migrate—but first a pit-stop and then stumble back to my bed. Grab the baby, nurse him and change his diaper again. 4:28 am, back to sleep.
7:03 am. The littlest, tiniest one is crawling on my chest, the middle-sized child is petting my hair while the oldest cherub has her foot in my ribs and is trying to stroke my eyelid. Where’s David? After unsuccessfully trying to carve a sliver of space for himself my husband gave up and migrated north. Now he is in the girls’ room. All alone. Peace and quiet. Sleeping spread out in a king sized bed with all the fixins’.
Sometimes I become the migrator when one wakes up and doesn’t want to move. “Mom??? I’ve got a cramp!!” Or “Mom??? I want a drink of water.” That’s how it usually starts. Then it’s “Will you snuggle with me?” How can I say no? “Okay, just for a little while,” I say. I end up falling asleep—until I hear “Waaaaaa, waaaaaa.” It’s the baby calling from the other room.
Back on my feet. Migrating again.