The Science of Sleep Bankability and the Art of Sleep Deprivation

I recently read an article about a study into the bankability of sleep*.  You know.  Can you go five hours a day for a whole week and then catch up on the weekend?  Yes.  Yes, you can.  Unfortunately what this study also showed was that most of us in these modern times are carrying a sleep debt that we have no hope of ever repaying and that, eventually, it will shorten our lives.

My own personal sleep bank had quite a bit of credit before we had kids.  Never one to shy away from an early night during the week I also used to indulge in weekend sleep-ins to the point where the question was not necessarily “what’s for breakfast” so much as, “how much afternoon tea should I eat before I spoil my dinner?”

Nevertheless I think all that saved up sleep did was get me through the first month of Charlotte’s life.  After that it was a dramatic slide to this current point where my personal sleep debt could crash the global sleep economy and I’ve become one of those annoying people that call you on a Saturday morning at eight and act surprised that you’re still in bed because “I’ve been up for two hours”.  I digress.

Luckily for me these days James sleeps through the night.  There are no longer feedings at three in the morning and all bowel movements seem to happen during business hours, as it were.  You’d think I’d be well on my way to recovery of my sleep-ins and my sanity.  Alas, it is not to be.

Here’s a snapshot of just one night last week.  Admittedly, Charles was away so instead of tag teaming it was me on my own, but you get the idea.

7.30pm;  Bedtime ritual starts.

8pm; Lights out.

8.32pm;  Small son deposited into bed for sixth time.  Explode.  Yell.  Small son grins cheekily and finally goes to sleep.  Daughter told for seventh time to stop playing and go to sleep.

8.56pm;  All Barbies confiscated.  Torch, confiscated.  Threats deployed.  Small daughter finally decides to sleep.  Time to do the dishes.

9.23pm;  Dishes done, washing initiated.  Clothes, books, etc laid out for tomorrow.

10.06pm;  Shower, teeth, etc.

10.32pm;  Bed for me.

10.47pm;  Summoned by small son for dolly relocation purposes.  Bed again.  Finally drift away after noting clock says 11.07.

2.09am;  Cat decides must be inside immediately.  Sounds like Freddy Krueger vs the flyscreen.  Open front door in fury, tell cat she has to the count of three or I’ll wring her furry neck.  Cat seems to recognise absence of big jolly man willing to accommodate cat faffage and for once abandons the wary stare and slink routine that takes 40 seconds before she will deign to enter the house.  The presence of wild, angry redheaded woman prompts her to move before I’ve even drawn breath to say “one.”

2.23am;  Cat has finished her dinner and decides to show her appreciation for me getting up to let her in by climbing onto my chest, clawing me in happiness and drooling tuna by-product flavoured saliva onto my chin.  Toss cat.

3.17am;  Charlotte in floods of tears.  “I miss Daddddy and I had a bad dream that he was never going to come home!”  Honestly, who would blame him if he didn’t?  She detects my frustration at having to get up and screams at me to just get out if I’m not having any fun.

“Charlotte,” I sigh in exasperation, “It’s three thirty in the morning.  I’ve got bad news for you kid but no one has fun when they’re woken up at 3.30 in the bloody morning.”

She blinks in shock.

“Is it really 3.30 in the morning Mama?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.  Sorry about that.”

And amazingly all tears stop and she rolls over and goes back to sleep.

3.42am;  I leave a snoring pinky and go back to my own bed.

6.07am; Woken with a crash when James cracks me over the face with his favourite book of the moment, “There’s a Hippopotamus On Our Roof Eating Cake” and yells, “HIPPOT!  CAKE!  NOW  MAMA!”

*This is not the article I actually read, but you get the idea.