Nights

I was always a night owl.

If I had a choice, I would choose to work through the night. Or at least half of it. Assignments, papers, housework, music composition/arrangements, studying, learning languages, etc. There is something light and easy about working your heart out when everybody is fast asleep, the sun is set, and the home is lit by dimmed lights. A hot cuppa would deck my work space, I would lose myself in a blissful to-do-list, and time would rush by. By 3-4 am, I would wrap up and head for bed. The next morning could begin as early as 7 am, especially when classes at the seminary usually began at 8am. Yes, I would be groggy and a little disorientated, but never dysfunctional. I sat through classes (albeit like a zombie on some days), took notes, worked on stuff that didn't require too much brain work (including drawing), and drank coffee. By lunch time, I would be fully awake. I would work a few more hours after that, catch my forty winks in the afternoon, and wake up fully charged for the evening - and those precious few hours in the night.    

Oh, how I miss those good old days.

Some, including my husband, would argue that burning the midnight oil is not very healthy. As a result, I have tried to tame the night owl in me - which never quite worked out until the end of my pregnancy. Of course, Sophie arrived - and I eventually stopped trying simply because being up throughout the night is part and parcel of any new parent's life. Breastfeeding, changing nappies when necessary, pumping, and etc broke my nights into chunks of 2 hours or so. I woke up every 2 hours disorientated and dreading the morning after when I would have to cope with the grueling demands of mothering my baby on little sleep. Everything with regard to Sophie required brain work - and there was no excuse for being a zombie mom because it could be a matter of life and death. Furthermore, while I was minding Sophie on my own, I had tons of housework to do in the night when I needed to fall into bed so badly. Laundry, washing bottles (and pump parts), tidying up the house - you name it. And so, as you can imagine, burning the midnight oil took on a whole new meaning for me. Because it had become a necessity (and not merely a choice), I resented it for a while. The hours of solitude I had treasured for years became as lonely as they could be. Even when we went on family vacations, they came along - like uninvited guests. 

But now I am actually glad that they were lonely. Similar to how conflicts can strengthen a relationship, my long-suffered love-hate affair with those hours turned them back into the delightful things they were - and even more. I am back to loving my nights, even while they are no longer as carefree as they were during my childless days. (Sophie still wakes up in the night.) But yeah. I am back to loving my nights for what they really are - hours of solitude at the end of a long day when I could be blissfully alone with myself and God despite my duties - if I chose to. I guess it helps that the season in which my nights were so much more complicated and draining had passed - and now that things are much easier (for one thing, I no longer need to pump, store, and warm EBM in the night), cuddling my toddler whenever she comes to hug me in the middle of the night for comfort is less rushed and has never been more fulfilling. Even vacations can be restful now. 

Thank God that He makes things beautiful in His time. A difficult season never lasts forever - even if it seems like an eternity while it lasts. I believe that this applies not only for a parent's broken nights but also other trials in life. May God always grant us hope, joy, and strength.