Sleepless Nights

I knew it was bad when I started banging into walls.

Then there was the time I woke up in bed convinced I was still in the rocking chair, my son in my arms.

“How many times did he wake up last night?” I asked my husband this morning, in a fog.

“Sweets, you were up with him all night!” he replied.

And so, here we are this morning, my son having recovered from his teething pains or illness, whichever it was. Thankfully, the only evidence of the night we shared is the cranky edge to us all.

It’s no wonder, then, that I almost burst out laughing this afternoon when a family member, unaware of how little sleep I’d gotten as of late, said I looked like I was doing really good.

The funny thing about their statement was that in the moment they said it, it was true! I don’t know how it happened, but as they spoke the words, I realized I was feeling centered, peaceful and as if all was well in my world.

Funny because if you had seen me a few hours before, well, that’s about the last way I would have described “my world." Not only had the night not gone as “planned,” the whole day had gone that way too.

In fact, everything was so entirely off-course from the way I would have planned it had I been in charge (which thankfully I’m not), at some point when I was probably too tired to notice, I must have slipped from resistance to acceptance to—lo and behold—peace!

Sometimes the most difficult nights are the ones that make us realize everything's all right.