Sleep, beautiful, uninterrupted sleep for mom and dad

What ever you do, don't wake this baby up.

What ever you do, don’t wake this baby up.

Nothing gets me more excited than seeing my wife in bed, asleep.

Sleeping and totally clothed, blissfully unaware of the world around her, no babies at her breast.

That’s because sleep deprivation is a nasty vehicle. It slowly robs you of your sanity and compromises your marriage, friendships, family life and work until you’re a penniless automaton wandering the streets begging strangers for Ambien.

Well, perhaps that’s a bit strong, but it certainly makes life difficult.

We can’t even imagine how our friends with children whose kids still don’t sleep.

Ours are decent sleepers, good, in fact. Charlotte, 3 ½ and our oldest has slept through the night for two years. Georgia, who just turned two, was even younger although she still cries out once a night occasionally.

Emmy the five-month-old baby appears to be on the same path. She was still interrupting us twice a night until very recently. We just pray to all things holy that she continues.

In fact, last night, when we realized Erin had only been up once with one child, it was as if a new day had dawned.

Imagine spending six months of winter in the Yukon Territories where it’s dark for nearly 24 hours, and trapped inside your igloo is a screaming newborn.

Then, suddenly, the sun rises and you’re able to give that newborn back to its mama and go back to bed for 15 minutes.

Bliss, pure bliss. I looked over at my wife, who was smiling and alert, moving around the room happily.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her.

“Fine, why?”

“Just curious. How’d you sleep last night?”

“Are you quoting me?” she asked. My wife comes from a marketing and public relations background. Me, being in journalism, means that sometimes we mix like Capulets and Montagues.

You know, from Romeo and Juliet, the play where everyone is constantly stabbing each other in the back and the main characters poison themselves.

“You know you have to get my permission first.”

This is one of our pet arguments. She, of course, knows that I’m a journalist and everything is on the record.

“And it’s not on the record,” she said. “Don’t give me that. You know what else is going off the record tonight, then, right?”

That’s okay, really, I’m sure we could both use a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep.