You have a nomadic way of going to sleep. You wander between couches and bedrooms trying to find a comfortable spot to wind down. It’s not about brightness or darkness because you’ll shift between rooms with either option. It’s not about space because sometimes you find a big bed to sleep in alone, and sometimes you are snuggled in with Eliza or your Mom.
Some nights you defy sleep altogether.
“Sleep is bad!” and “I’ll never go to sleep again!” are common, last-stand refrains, as if sleep slighted you and you have yet to make amends.
You always need a “softie” ultra-soft blanket to finally settle whereever you do, which is never your own bed. Because of that, Mom and I carry you every night into your room after you’ve given into sleep.
The effort has gotten to be more and more difficult as you’ve gotten heavier and longer. I feel the stairs now when I have to climb them as the task has turned into a weighted lunge exercise. You also have a stretch reflex when picked up that turns you into a solid plank, which makes things a little harder as we have to turn sideways around corners so we don’t bonk your feet or head on a wall.
I’ve recently started to wonder how long this routine will last. When will my back not be able to take it after you gain a few more assymetrical pounds? Will you one day concede and more often choose to sleep in your own room, knowing you wake up there anyway? Sometimes, after an awkward, tired carry I can’t wait for the change to come. Sometimes, I hope the pattern never changes.
I promise to carry you to sleep as long as I can. And then you get to carry me.
Love, Dad