Sleep Training
Insider #127 with notes from a silent night.
Dear Insider,
This month I became a father. In case you missed it, read the announcement post where I asked readers to approve my parental leave. Also, the story of us going to and returning from the hospital. Last week, watching Rohan sleep, I wondered about the stuff of his dreams.
In today’s post, I find the time to write (and draw) as Rohan finally sleeps peacefully after a few restless nights.
The SneakyArt (Insider) Post is written for paid subscribers and patrons of my work. Every Sunday, while on parental leave, I share stories of parenthood and the latest drawings from my sketchbook.
If you like having my work in your inbox, share this post with another young parent who might like it too.
One Thirty AM
It is 1:30 in the morning. A good line occurs to me but I let it pass. All is quiet and I do not want to move. I do not want to open my laptop and squint at the bright screen. I do not want to type something on keys that will click or clack. I do not want to get distracted by YouTube, or a notification on social media. Rohan is cooing softly in his sleep, swaddled tightly, covered by a deliciously soft brown rug.
Across the spectrum of sounds he emits, this is one of the rare ones. It is tough to describe, and any attempt to capture it would kill the moment, so I leave it here, between him and me. Our little secret.
The pen would scratch on the sketchbook page. I use a pencil instead. Anyway, the harsh lines of ink cannot convey what I see in this dimly lit space, Rohan’s face half in the darkness cast by the arm of the couch and half-lit by the light above the kitchen counter. The light is meant to illuminate the stove-top, but today I let it fall on my page too. I use it to tell the pencil where to go and what to do.
Meanwhile, the little Houdini wrangles one arm free from the swaddle. The bright green swaddle now resembles a Roman toga. His fingers caress the cheek turned away from me. Doctors say this is a good thing that newborns do. They are self-soothing. At 2.5 weeks of life, it is his first act of independent self-care. So I don’t get in the way.
He self-soothes and lets out a mighty yawn. His little chest rises and falls.
Nearly Two AM
It is nearly 2 am and cars are hurtling down the road. I want to go to the window and tell them to cut it out. Maybe practice some self-soothing instead?
Now, an ambulance, lights flashing, sirens blaring, pedal to the floor. I pray for a call, and for someone to say - “Everyone’s okay actually. Just suddenly, almost like a miracle. You can switch off your siren. Go back. Quietly.”
I do not go to the window because the floorboards would creak loudly in the stillness, and fresh air is good for both of us. But maybe I do not need to care so much. He is self-soothing, eyes closed, brows unfurrowed, turning to me, then turning away again.
Another good line occurs to me, so I finally allow myself this - a notebook within arm’s reach, and light-grey ink on soft paper. If I write smoothly and never scratch anything out, maybe all of us can be happy - Rohan, in peaceful slumber, and the part of me that is watching over his 17th night of life, and the part of me that cannot let a good line go. Self-soothing.
