I struggle with finding time to read—read for myself, that is, those long sustained immersions in a novel that I used to enjoy when I was younger but that now get lost in the midst of busyness in so many direction.
I also struggle with sleep—frequently wakeful in the middle of the night for an hour or two, tossing, turning, frustrated with being unable to get back to sleep.
So how does the one struggle help with the other? and vice versa?
Here’s an excerpt from “Our Souls at Night,” my latest column for the Washington Independent Review of Books—this section looking at the early months of new parenthood:
Tara was sometimes asleep by the time I got home from classes at 10:30 p.m. or later, but because I was often still a little wired (always hard to just switch off after having been “on” for students), I usually found myself in charge of Dash’s last feeding of the day.
I’d get home, prep his bottle, walk into his darkened room, lift him from his crib — still sleeping — and tuck him into the crook of my arm for that twilight feeding (or dream feeding, as it’s called).
I’m not always a fan of the Kindle — I like the feel of a real book — but I appreciated it those nights. Holding the bottle, and with Dash nestled in the other arm, I still had one hand free to hold the Kindle, its small light just enough for me to read by but not enough to disturb his slumber.