He will not allow your foot to slip;
Your Protector will not slumber.
Indeed, the Protector of Israel
Does not slumber or sleep.
~ Psalm 121:3-4, CSB
By 6 AM, I hear the traffic on Sheridan Avenue pick up for the daily work commute. I turn off the sound machine beside me to signal to little Byron that it is indeed morning time. Another long night of feeding is over.
Holding him against my belly, we make our way back to the bedroom for a couple more hours of sleep. I suspect the carpet and wood floors will soon bear the marks of my frequent travels from the bedroom to the nursery to the couch in the living room. The patina of a lived-in home.
Byron coos softly as I zip him into his swaddle and turn on the Snoo. The Snoo oscillates him gently from side to side and bundles him in a wave of white noise. I lay back to sleep, ready to wake up to the alarm of his cries.
For three weeks now, there has been little to distinguish night from day. Sure, the night is a little darker and the day is a little brighter. The night is spent in the nursery, while we spend our day in the living room. But, the sleep, wake, feed, play, change, sleep rhythm stays the same no matter what time it is.
I knew having kids would expose every ounce of selfishness in me, but I never expected this exposure to begin with a newborn and round-the-clock feeding. I’ve suddenly lost any ownership I thought I had over my time and my body. Only a few weeks ago, I could choose my bedtime and my schedule for the day. I could choose to leave the house at any time without having to think about changing diapers or planning the next feeding session. Any demands that I put on my body, usually in the form of a workout, were by my own choosing. Now, my body is physiologically linked to Byron’s nutritional needs. In an age where the freedom of choice trumps all, I understand why the birth rate in the U.S. falls year by year. A baby doesn’t submit to our freedom of choice, much less our desire to slumber and sleep.
The first night home after the hospital, Byron woke up every 30-45 minutes to feed. By the early morning, each of his cries would elicit a cry of my own. Each time we traveled the small hallway from my bedroom to the nursery, I felt like I was moving further from the life I once knew.
Will I ever sleep again? Was this a mistake? Why would God call us to “be fruitful and multiply” when the call is so costly? Where are you, God?
There are moments when I long for the days before baby. I want to sleep. I want control over my schedule. I want my body back. I may care for Byron in all the necessary ways, but entertaining these thoughts cause my heart to be far from him. Though this season is intense, I don’t want to wish these days away with complaining and grumbling.
Like Eustace rubbing the dragon scales from his body, this transition to motherhood is not easy or comfortable. Each late-night feeding, each diaper change, each decision between what I want to do and what baby needs is a stripping away of my old self. This rubbing and scrubbing is not me losing myself or me losing my identity. It is as Paul says in the letter to the Ephesians “to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (4:22-24). But also like Eustace, I can’t achieve any transformation on my own.
The greatest comfort to me during sleepless nights and demanding days has been that God does not slumber or sleep. At my most tired, He is awake. At my weakest, He is strong. At my most vulnerable, He is my help. He not only watches over me, but he watches over Byron in all the ways I cannot. He watches our coming and going from room to room and day by day. This is the truth I must recall when the days get lonely or the nights too long.
My help comes from the Lord,
The Maker of heaven and earth.
-Psalm 121:2
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