Last Sunday morning, I woke up from six hours of sleep following a four-day, end-of-summer Fun Binge with the kids. I considered myself lucky to have indulged in those precious six hours, as not unlike the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex, sleep went extinct for me several millennia ago. This is something I blame squarely on my children.
From ages zero through thirty, I slept like any other normal, slack-ass kid. Sleep sessions ranged from a low of ten hours to a high of eighteen, depending on my state of development. But never less than ten. Never. Some hockey-masked psycho could hack my bed apart with a chainsaw while the Third Armored Division ran drills outside my window, and I still would get in at least ten hours.
Fast forward to the band days, and sleep became a rare and precious commodity. When my band was on tour, the typical day ended at 3:00AM and fired up again around 7:00AM, or even earlier if we had a morning radio show appearance. “Sleep” is not an adequate verb to describe the state of consciousness that occurred under these circumstances: I basically went narcoleptic whenever I could. I learned how to go from zero to coma in ten seconds, and executed this trick on buses, in restaurants, in broom closets, and even side-stage during the opening band’s performance. However, on a coveted day off, I could fall asleep while a pack of feral hamsters nibbled at my flesh and still get eighteen straight hours of uninterrupted, death-like slumber.
Sleep Patterns Change When You Have Kids. Duh.
But all that changed when my son was born. Becoming a parent is like a Faustian bargain with Father Time, wherein page four, paragraph two, subparagraph B states, “Your circadian rhythm will be completely screwed for the rest of your life.” Though the contract was ratified around the third trimester (“Honey, I’m uncomfortable, and I can’t sleep…so neither will you”), it really kicked in at the moment we brought home our precious issuance of devoted love, who launched into one of three patented screams every two hours: I Am Starving, Oh My God I Have Soiled Myself, and Come Entertain Me.
I held on to the hope that sleep patterns would return to normal after the first year or so, but there was an insidious and ironic side effect of this Manchurian Candidate-style conditioning: when the baby stopped crying at night, I’d wake up in a panic every two hours anyway, wondering if he was quiet because he was dead. This continued for another few years.
Things didn’t get any better when the second round of kids came along. I am currently in the seven-year period where the only antidote to my daughter’s bad dreams is to let her sleep in my bed. Sleep, in this context, means, “Let me sprawl out on your bed horizontally and dig my razor-like toenails into your back.” There are nights I invariably end up sleeping on my own bedroom floor. (“Daddy! Did you have a slumber party last night?” “Yes. A party. Precisely the word I was looking for”).
Will Sleep Ever Return To Normal?
I am pretty confident that, sometime in the next few years, I will no longer be awakened by crying nor by the terrifying apparition of my daughter standing in the darkness two inches from my face. But the damage is done. The mere creak of a door hinge or the rush of a flushing toilet, or even the barking of some random dog eight miles away snaps me out of my barely-alpha brain state.
And then another two years down the road, things will take an even sharper turn for the worse as my daughter turns fifteen, and boys come sulking around like a boner with two legs and a half-developed hippocampus. Many will be the nights I lay sleepless in bed, my Little Unicorn Princess ostensibly “at a girlfriend’s house,” knowing full well that some acne-crusted jizz machine is perpetrating testosterone crimes on my daughter, the exact same way I did with numerous girls when I was her age.
My brother, who, with two boys of his own, knows the torture of decades of sleep deprivation, has informed me that science has proven one can catch up on lost sleep. In fact, sleep can even be “banked” to a certain extent and used later, like a serotonin credit card. So, I looked this up on Sleep.org, and here’s what I learned from their FAQ section:
The Truth About Sleep Deprivation From The Experts
Q: Can you ever really catch up on sleep?
A: No, you can’t, you freaking idiot. Why did you ever have kids to begin with?
(Ok, maybe that was my interpretation of the subtext of the answer. Here’s the real deal):
Q: Can you ever really catch up on sleep?
A: Yes, you can do that by ultimately getting back on a regular cycle of seven to nine hours of shut-eye per night. It can take days or even weeks for your body to return to a normal pattern. In the meantime, if you’re trying to make up for lost time, go to bed early and wake up at your normal time instead of sleeping in late. To get your circadian rhythm back on track, avoid bright lights before bed and keep your bedroom as dark as possible. Get back on schedule by going to sleep a few minutes earlier every night until you’re back to your regular bedtime. Taking melatonin can also help you doze off at the right time. Also, avoid eating, drinking and exercising right before you hit the hay.
So, no glass of wine before bed. Why don’t I just kill myself now? Then I’ll sleep. Doesn’t solve the wine problem, though.
And, as it turns out, there is no such thing as a Serotonin Credit Card. There is, however, the conversely horrendous-sounding Sleep Debt.
Q: Besides feeling tired, what are the other consequences of sleep debt?
A: The potential short-term, negative effects include a foggy brain, impaired driving, difficulty remembering things, and reduced vision, while potential long-term ramifications include heart disease, obesity, and insulin resistance. And a complete psychotic meltdown.
(Ok, I added that last line. But it’s true anyway).
So, it appears as though sleep, like my fantasy of marrying Lisa Whelchel from The New Mickey Mouse Club, is forever a memory from a long-forgotten time.
Having your sleep patterns altered forever pairs with: 2018 Big Gay Rosé
There used to be a “season” to rosé, which coincided nicely with Spring, as rosé is the first wine to be bottled following harvest in September or October. But with the advent of “Rose All Day,” and because the wine is just downright yummy and perfect with food, rose’s pattern has been forever altered. And I’m good with that.
And what I’m especially good with is this 2018 Big Gay Rosé of Pinot Noir from California. It’s crisp and dry, just the way I like it. Those who prefer a sweeter rosé will have to look elsewhere. However, if you dread dry rosés because they’re like sucking a cold bar of aluminum, have no fear. This wine has all those ripe, juicy pinot noir characteristics.
Perhaps best of all, Big Gay Rosé is Pairs With Life Cellars’ “give back” wine. All net proceeds from the sale benefit anti-bullying efforts in the LGBTQ+ community. So you can get plowed at brunch AND do the right thing at the same time. And at 12% alcohol, it won’t put the already-sleep-deprived into a coma.
Click here to buy Big Gay Rosé for only $16. And with free shipping!