The curse of the sleep-resistant males

It is 3:20 pm and my nerves are shot. Totally, completely shot.

I have spent the last four hours trying to get the boys to sleep. It is finally qu**t. I don't dare type the word, lest one of them wake up. Or both of them.

MHH is a resister of sleep par excellence. Before we were married, he had three roommates in a one-bedroom apartment. Two guys in the living room, two in the bedroom. For a naturally sleep-resistant person, this is hopeless; someone is always up, there's always something going on that one might miss by going to bed. He regularly went to sleep at 2 am or later. Next day, he'd fall asleep mid-sentence, or over a book, or sitting on the subway. I don't think he ever consciously put two and two together on that one. Really. He told me, very earnestly, that he just didn't need as much sleep as most people. His roommate said that he didn't understand how anyone survived on so little sleep, and that if he (MHH) ever got any sleep, he'd probably have superpowers. He (roommate) didn't seem to be aware that he (MHH) regularly fell asleep all kinds of places he shouldn't, without really realizing it. You know, like, in shiur.

About a week after we got married, when I discovered this about him, I (I thought reasonably) started suggesting he maybe try to go to bed a little earlier. (I was a 10:30 girl myself.) You'd think I had suggested he sleep naked on a park bench covered in peanut butter. It was the most freakish and disturbing suggestion anyone had ever made, and I was clearly just trying to get rid of him. Oh-kay, I thought, not the way to start on the right foot with the shalom bayis. I'll just keep quiet on this one. But a few months later, he had a job that required him to get up at 6 am at the absolute latest. He started having to get to sleep earlier. We had a few gentle wifely chats about this and he seemed to get it. He asked me, earnestly, to please try to make sure he got to bed every night by 11 at the absolute outside. He promised, bli neder, not to get mad at me for attempting to make sure he did not stay up all night, thereby falling asleep in front of [his own] shiur, losing his job, and impoverishing his new family. Etc.

Every night--every single night--I'd try. And fail. It didn't matter how tired he was. He could be literally falling asleep at the table, in his chair, walking around the living room staggering off course with fatigue. He didn't. Need. To. Sleep. Not tired! No!

I only really realized what I was in for when his father came to visit for Rosh Hashanah. And despite the exhausting trip, and the fact that he was almost too tired to talk--he didn't go to sleep. I came out into the living room in the wee hours to find both of them passed out on the couch in identical poses--heads back, books on chest, bare feet on floor next to four discarded socks. The same way MHH falls asleep every night, if he has the chance.

Then I realized. It was genetic. I was doomed.

And then Barak was born. Barak, whom even the pros at daycare despaired of getting to nap. Barak, whose most oft-repeated phrase is "no night night!" Barak, who discovered power naps at the age of two months, falling asleep after hours of refusal, sleeping for ten minutes, waking up bright-eyed and perky, and then screaming in exhaustion (again) twenty minutes later.

Iyyar is exactly the same. Exactly. Our babysitter, who started taking care of Barak aged seven months, says it over and over. "He hates to sleep. He fights it tooth and nail. He's just like his brother. It's spooky. He just... hates to sleep." And he does, except even worse than Barak--he won't fall asleep in a stroller. He'll scream himself silly first. No stroller, no carseat. NO NIGHT-NIGHT! Of course he can't say that yet, but you can hear it in the howling.

Today, playgroup started. Iyyar was asleep when we needed to leave, having nursed himself into a stupor about half an hour earlier. Rashly, I tried to transfer him into the carseat. No dice. He woke up, and started to howl. We got to playgroup with a distraught and, naturally, now starving baby, and I sat there nursing him and trying to calm him down. Eventually he did settle down, and watched the goings-on, wide awake. But then he started to peter out, and when I put him in the evil evil carseat for the five-block return trip, started to howl again. And howl. And Barak started to rub his eyes, and asked to be carried. Fine, I thought. It's noon. Barak didn't sleep much last night (he jumped around in his crib till 9:30 and woke up at 7). He could do with an early nap. So I put him down. And closed the door. And-

Barak fell asleep half an hour ago. That would be three in the afternoon. He just fell asleep. He was crying with tiredness, but would not sleep--he was climbing around his crib, asking for books, talking to himself, singing, playing, etc. I ignored it, until I heard "Imma change diaper!" I changed his diaper, which needed it, and tried to explain to him that he was dooming himself to an entire afternoon in his crib with his antics. "No night-night!" Sigh.

Meanwhile, Iyyar was fighting the good fight in our room. The eyes would droop. He'd be almost out, snuggled against me with the soft blanky on his cheek, being rocked, sung to, nursed. And then it would hit him. "Wait a minute! You're trying to make me sleep! AAAGGH!" And he'd be up again. After an hour I did get him to sleep--long enough to fold half a load of laundry. Then he was up again. And happy for ten minutes. And then he started to rub his eyes and cry. Again.

I'm sure there are fifty things I should be doing right now--I'm going to Boston for the day tomorrow for a shiva visit--but I don't even want to make the noise of walking around the apartment on our creaky floors. I think I'll just sit here and knit. Very very quietly.