Lalaphile

You have your oenophiles (and, for the record, I spelled that correctly the first time without looking, so there).

You have your bibliophiles.

I'm a lalaphile. "Kulala" is Swahili for "sleep" and I've decided I lovelovelove sleep. Not because I'm so tired, or because I'm not exercising enough, or because I'm in some sort of psychological avoidance. I just love so many things about sleep.

(and no, I don't want to sleep like a baby...remember how they woke up all the time and pooed and peed?)

Part of it stems, I think, from the fact that I had serious postpartum depression after Cameron was born...the kind that takes down your marriage, makes you a stranger to everyone, including yourself, and means sleep is a vague memory. For over 18 months I didn't sleep more than 3 hours a night. Seriously. On a weekend I might pick up an extra hour or two by sleeping in, but basically Sunday through Thursday I worked full-time in an adolescent alternative school, and was a full-time mother and wife (although that was in name only, really--it mostly consisted of me laying on the couch watching the world go by and reallly not caring so much about it all). When a doctor finally said, "Carla, met your new friend Mr. Prozac" I slowly crept back to the land of the living. Sleep came back, too...a little.

Still, there would be stretches. Mark was not allowed broach any potentially troublesome or irritating topic of conversation after, say, 8:00 and absolutely NEVER wtihin the confines of the bedroom. A relatively harmless statement like "Do you remember if we paid the insurance bill?" would result in a sleepless night. Really, most conversations had to be rigorously censured. The thing was, was that a few nights of sleeplessness could be made up later tha week.

Africa was better. You could never sleep in, thanks to the cows and donkeys and dogs and chickens and people and horns, but it got dark at 6:00 and it was pretty darn quiet after 9:00. For the first time in my life, though, I woke up at some point once or twice a night--dogs or our security guard--but that was more vexing than serious. After the robbery, well, I really never slept in Tanzania a full night after that. From October through June, except for the 10 days I spent in the States, I didn't sleep more than 5-6 hours a night.

But now--wow. Because I'm working, I'm tired in a way that I wasn't as a a SAHM. Our compound is quiet. My bed is so so so comfortable--seriously, we've had this mattress for 15 years and I'm afraid to replace it because whatever comes next might not be the same. My room is warm, my comforters (yes, there are more than 1) are soft and heavy. I now have a Kindle so I can read in bed. *sigh* It's heaven. It's funny that I've never spent any time or money decorating my bedroom or creating a mood or a theme because after all, I spend 99% of the time in there asleep. It's so heavenly that I start thinking about going to bed around 8 every night. Sometimes I think how nice it would be to watch a movie in bed and I'm tempted to get a TV, but I resist. Beds are for those other things--reading and sleeping.

OK, I know they're also for sex. But this is about sleeping and it's best on my terms. And that means without negotiating covers or sighs over how long the light might be on, or bodily noises, or entreaties for some romantic interludes. Because--truth time here, folks--one of my favorite bedtimes happens when Mark is gone. When I can sleep smack in the middle of the bed, keep the light as long as I please, turn up the heat, and have the covers just the way I want them when I fall asleep and when I wake up.

So, yes. I'm proud to say I'm a lalaphile. Join me in celebrating the joy of sleep! Lalas, UNITE!

Shuì gehǎojiào! (sleep well!)