Last weekend, I whacked my tailbone. It was one of those annoying maternal injuries. I reached for a squirming three-year-old across the table—at Herrell’s of course—and the force knocked me back harder than expected against the banquette. I did not quite see stars, but almost.
The next night I realized I’d really bruised it, like big ouch.
While the immediate tenderness to the spot lessened the fallout increased, a tangle of nerves twisting and crossing in response to the injury in some misguided struggle to protect the site.
The kindly and extremely competent physical therapist told me he’s been treating one woman three years after whacking her tailbone (eek).
After seeing him, I went to restorative yoga.
Hurting less, I rested. That night, I slept for eight hours. All that rest—on the table, on the yoga mat, on my bed—was deep, as if I hadn’t really been able to rest with a body in pain.
It’s counterintuitive that to rest takes work.
**
We’re having a very hard time with Saskia and bedtime these days, (um, nights). Her three school day naps seem to act like adrenaline; they keep her going and going and going. It’s not tit for tat. An hour or hour-plus nap does not translate into falling asleep an hour or hour-plus later. It’s worse than that, even on most no-nap days.
We’ve already pulled bedtime back from the brink once this year. The key culprit was her newfound ability to climb out of the crib. After a failed attempt at toddler bed, she sleeps beside the bed on a futon-like yoga mat on the floor. It’s cozy there. During our original bedtime crisis period, the transition to the potty and the beginning to comprehend at just three a little more about what adoption means might have spurred some of our bedtime difficulties.
Separation at night got hard.
I never know how much to consider adoption in these kinds of moments where separation is required: how much is her struggle about being three? What’s adoption-related? How can I tell which thing is affecting her?
I’m pretty sure I’ll be wondering this over the years, how much adoption influences her. I am a believer in not having secrets. I’m also a believer in attempting the less-is-more parenting dictum so I certainly don’t belabor adoption. I try to take her lead.
This past week a couple of my essays about adoption have come out and I’m feeling a bit vulnerable about it. I’m really proud of what I’ve written and the intention to write about our family in an open way that—I hope—helps others think about adoption differently. I want to honor adoption’s imperfections and difficulties and celebrate its joys and I really want more than anything for our children to feel wholly comfortable with our family. I especially wish this for our daughter.
**
However, at night, honestly, we’re trying to get her comfortable with spending time on her own in her room so she can go to sleep at her own pace without monopolizing her parents’ (and brothers’) entire evening. We are in survival mode.
Her preschool is trying to help. She’s been given a sticker chart for cooperative nights, modeled upon the much coveted job chart at school. Quoting Saskia at 9:15 last night: “I don’t want a sticker.” Eventually, she fell asleep with her papa in the room at 10:30. Our late night vision was to submit an idea to Roz Chast for a cartoon: the crisis chore wheel.
After my deep sleep, I am convinced what we need is… more sleep.
