Poss has been waking early again.
A while ago she was waking at about 1am, maybe 2 and get up for the day. She would insist the six-odd hours sleep that she would have notched up by then would be enough to get her through the day. Of course it wasn’t and she would be wrecked by midday.
Some mornings we would be woken by the muted sounds of the TV and we could sometimes get her back to sleep. Sometimes she would permit us to hold her for a while and encourage her to just rest. Other mornings we wouldn’t notice until we got up for the day, only to find her curled up on the couch, or in some kind of pillow fort on the lounge room floor.
Those mornings are hard. School was low on her priority list. In fact it would be the lowest of the low. Those are the mornings are filled with tears; tears of tiredness, tears of frustration. She has mastered the art of being a dead weight, simply throwing herself on the floor; too heavy for me to pick up, too awkward for me to dress.
We changed her medications, we worked through some things and the slowly the sleep returned.
But this week it seems the early mornings are back.
It doesn’t help that Husband is working crazy hours; sneaking out of the house somewhere a little after 4am. He is practised at being quiet, in fact he is quite stealthy. He knows those extra few hours can make all the difference to how her day will go.
We have never had him home in the mornings, it’s always been just her and I, so I know she’s not waking to see him. But waking she is. Some mornings it’s early enough for her to be already up when he is sneaking past her bedroom door.
This morning I caught her and bought her into bed with me. She still curls into me, just like she did as a toddler. Her breathing slowly settled, but she didn’t go back to sleep. Her legs were twitchy, her was still body stiff, and every now and then, she would complain about having to stay. But she didn’t pull away.
So we laid there, watching as the light peaking around the edges of the curtain slowly brightened and the day could begin. The time came to get up and thankfully she calmly got dressed and conceded that school would be happening. Small mercies.
The sun did it’s thing and moved across the sky and the clock ticked on. She went to school. I sighed a sigh of relief, then went to work. Coffee was had. Ok, inhaled. But she didn’t make it through the whole day.
A call came in the early afternoon to collect her.
‘Why?’ they ask. What’s going on? Why isn’t she coping?
I think to myself, it’s one of those circular problems; what came first? The not sleeping, or the not coping?
‘Poss has been waking early again’, I say.