The one way to be a rested mom is to sleep when your child sleeps. But,

It’s really hard to get sleep when the only time you are able to read, watch mature themed shows and movies, have sex or read Elle Décor is after your child goes to sleep.  It’s about hour to two hours of peace.  But, I really need to sleep.  Still I have this pile of things to read I can’t get through and the longer the pile sits there the greater import they seem to have.  I mean Westways magazine, is it really that important that I read the monthly mag from the Auto club? Apparently it is because it’s been in my pile for months.  I’ve been trying to find a few moments to read Elle Décor, not only is it an issue from January,  I don’t even like it!  But, my sister gave it to me and damm it, maybe I will find a design gem in there.

When Vivien was a newborn I likened my life to the movie “Groundhog day”.  Everyday was exactly the same, feed the baby, burp the baby, get the baby to sleep, repeat.  Now I think my life is like that famous episode of “The Twilight Zone” where Burgess Merideth is the bookworm with thick glasses and all he wants to do is read.  One day he emerges from the bank vault where he works and had been taking a reading break, of course, to find a bomb has dropped and all life is gone.  He is thrilled. He can finally read.  He stacks the books he longs to read and just when he is about to settle in his glasses fall and break. Now his eternity lies before him, he can’t read and he is alone.  Hell.  Okay, well, I don’t wear glasses, but I am becoming a bit obsessed with reading.  I feel bad sometimes that my perfect 2 year old beauty is prancing around wanting my attention  and I have one eye on the business page of the LA Times.  I check myself, god, look at her, she is a miracle nothing is more important.   Hmm, yes, right, but out of the corner of my eye I catch a 4 week old People, and did I read that one…?  It’s one of the great things about nursing that no one ever tells you, so much time to read.  You nurse a newborn 45 minutes a feeding several times a day. That’s a lot of printed matter.

Now, I am not this way in a vacuum.  My mother always preferred to have printed matter in front of her.  On the minus side it meant as we begged her to play with us she would calmly say, “No, developmentally you should create your own play”.  She knew that because she had read it.  Right there, because she would barely look at us as she picked up a book.  On the plus side, it meant she was very patient.  She would hang out at parks, shopping centers, wherever we wanted to go.  She was fine, as long as she had a seat and something to read.  And really it could be a newsletter from the Hare Krishna, she just had to lay her eyes on printed English.

I married another reading addict.  I have learned that if my husband is reading and I want him to hear what I am saying I have to physically touch him and say, “I need you to listen to me right now”.  You know like he’s a kid…who’s developmentally disabled.

So, why would I rather read then experience life? Well, one can’t live and know everything so you get that from reading and also the truth is motherhood—I will say it—can be boring.  Yes, the thing you strive for your whole life can be dull.  I crave the stimulation of new thought and information that my child-particularly in her first year of life—can’t give me. Sure, there are plenty of times when I am in awe of who she is, that I helped create her, that I have never felt so consumed with love.  But, geez, I didn’t leave my brains at the epidural.  Like any good mother I would willing throw myself in front of bus to protect the life of my child.

But, do I have to put down the Sunday New York Times?