Tired

[Editor's note: This, like all posts that date prior to January 9, 2007, was originally posted at my former Woebegotten Wonderland blog that was destroyed for many very good reasons and a few pretty pathetic ones. They will all be labeled as "re-runs" here. I apologize for the blatant recycling hack-job, but the truth is I don't write that much and some of this stuff is probably better than I am likely to write any time soon. It seemed such a shame to let it go to waste.]

I am tired.

I don't mean that I'm feeling tired right now (though I am). I mean that I am tired as a state of being. Whenever asked how I'm doing, if I were to be truthful about it, I would respond "tired".

Why am I tired?

Because I am a parent. It is absolutely amazing how little sleep you can manage to get as a parent.

If you read my previous posting you might mistakenly believe that I am only temporarily tired due to a short-term sleep deprivation issue related to caring for a sick child. Yes, the other night Josh was up all night barfing. And yes, I stayed up with him all night, holding his hand, rubbing his back, holding his puke bucket, and cleaning up his mess. But no, that is not the reason I am tired.

It may be a reason, but it is not the reason.

As I said before: I am tired because I am a parent.

When you become a parent you know to expect to initially lose some sleep. Babies cry. That's what they do. They eat. They poop. They cry. That's about it. If you've seen any movies about babies, read any books about babies, or have known anyone who has ever actually had a baby then you must surely know that babies cry. And when the baby cries all night, its parents do not sleep.

That is something everyone ought to know going into the whole parenting deal. What they don't tell you is that this sleep deprivation thing doesn't get any better.

How do I know?

I have no babies.

I have children. "Big kids" they like to call themselves. I have (accounting for upcoming birthdays) a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and a two-year-old. They are well spaced. By this I mean that people who don't have children of this exact spacing tell we that they are well spaced. Parents with children of similar age differences just give me a knowing, pitying look.

To have three children this close together means that I have three children currently young enough to wake up at any given hour of the night needing a drink. Or to go to the bathroom. Or who just need to be held. Or who have an ear ache, stomach ache, head ache, or any other mystery ailment that needs immediate parental treatment and then empathy sufficient enough to allow the ailing child permission to spend the rest of the night not in his own bed, but mine.

Any child of the age of any of my children is likely to at some point subscribe to any of these aforementioned behaviors. Having so many of these children reside in my house just makes the odds favorable that it will happen tonight.

So I'm tired because my children keep needing me in the middle of the night, right?

Maybe.

But I'm not sure that I wouldn't be tired if I wasn't urgently needed for some mystery ailment in the middle of the night, anyway.

Being a parent means that I am responsible for the well being of my children. I am charged with their care.

Their protection.

Their well being. And not just their physical well being.

I am entrusted with the responsibility to ensure that they not only survive to adulthood, but become reasonably well adjusted adults when they get there. I am charged with loving them more than myself, and making damn sure that they know it.

They have to know that they're loved. Not just to academically assent to the idea that they are loved, but to experience it.

It's hard work to love someone so much, so I am quite tired from it.

But it's good work, if you can get it.

Yes, I'm tired. That is unlikely to change. I'm tired just thinking about the upcoming time when instead of having three young children who need me and know it, I'll have three teenagers who may need me even more and not realize it.

Or if they do, they'd never let me know.

I can remember seeing my parents take turns sitting awake in the living room at late hours in the night. Either one of them would be alone in a rocking chair or a recliner on any given night. Superficially they might be reading a book. Or maybe watching a movie on TV. I never thought much about it. They'd just tell me that they couldn't sleep. It seemed odd to me, but not in a way that I was inclined to devote my limited and otherwise engaged mental resources to it.

That was before I became a parent.

I get it now. I understand exactly why they would be awake in the middle of the night. I don't understand this in a way that I can adequately articulate. I just experience it.

See, to be a parent is to always be necessary. A parent's job is never done. And some nights you just have to remain "on duty", even if you don't know why.

I'm glad for these days when I do know why.

I was up last night because Maggie's ears hurt. I was up the night before because Caleb was too cold in his room. I was up the night before that because Josh was throwing up.

In ten years I may be up because I just don't know where Josh is. I may be up because Maggie might want to try to sneak out of the house. I may be up for any number of reasons that I frankly just don't wish to think about right now.

I may just be up because I might be necessary. A parent can always be necessary.

I am tired, and I will most likely remain tired for quite some time.

I'm tired, but satisfied.