“Do you hear her laughing at us?” I asked my wife while trying to fall asleep. It was 5:30 p.m. and I was exhausted after a day at work. Well, truthfully, I was exhausted after a long night of little sleep and then going to work. Going to the office simply tipped the scales toward a nap out of necessity instead of preference.

Gracelyn had other plans. Shortly after crawling into bed, we heard her chuckles from the car seat. Yes, as Sera picked me up from work, our daughter fell asleep, and we were too terrified to remove her once we arrived home. She sat safely on our bedroom floor while we attempted to remember what sleeping was like without a baby. Our attempts failed.

Her bout of laughter was quickly followed with screams for attention. Deep down inside, I knew her giggles weren’t coming from a place of happiness. She was mocking us, laughing at our dream of dreaming. Baby Gracelyn was in charge, and it was foolish of us to think otherwise.

There’s a certain amount of sacrifice that comes with having a child that you can’t quite comprehend before she arrives. Even as a father, I can’t fully understand everything Sera is sacrificing for our little girl. I suppose love is about sacrifices, but it wasn’t something I really experienced when we got married. My wife and I have almost always been on the same page, to the point where there hasn’t been a lot of give and take between us. Ceding any amount of control over to something weighing nine pounds seems very unnatural, yet here I am abandoning a well-earned nap for the baby.

If we didn’t have this little bundle of screaming joy, we’d surely be well rested and enjoying something on Netflix this evening. Instead, we’re doing everything possible to prevent her from crying. I’m sure some seasoned parents would share that it’s OK for her to cry, and we know it’s not the end of the world, but sometimes Gracelyn’s screams mixed with our tired heads means doing everything in our power to prevent a migraine from visiting.

I couldn’t help but feel like sleep was what we were giving up for Lent this year as I sat through the Ash Wednesday service at church last week. It may not have been a planned choice, but Sera and I are definitely giving up enough of it to count. Of course Gracelyn’s screaming brings unceasing prayers for silence, so we’re well on our way to paving our path to sainthood. (Perhaps God’s laughing at us now.)

Thankfully, these late nights and early mornings of a baby screaming are temporary — at least that’s what my co-workers say. It’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make for this little girl. I do wonder if it’s a sacrifice we’d be willing to make for anyone else though. I can’t imagine a scenario of having to wake up every few hours to care for a friend or family member, and at this point, I know it would be a hard commitment to make. Why is it that we’re willing to do it for this 3-week-old but would think twice for someone who has been in our lives a lot longer?

There’s likely a million reasons, but I still think I could have been doing more to support friends and family now that I know what I’m able to give up to support this little girl. If only we could harness the energy we expel for our children to care for others in our lives. There are certainly people in this world who excel at this, but I’m not one of them. Most of us aren’t them, and though I don’t think I have the capacity at this very moment in time to stretch myself further than caring for Gracelyn, I want to get to that place someday.

What I’m learning in these moments where sleeps seems like a mirage in the desert, is that true joy comes from true struggle. When this little girl finally falls asleep and stays asleep for longer than 20 minutes, I’m filled with the elixir of life. In some way in your life, there’s an opportunity for you to feel the same way. It likely comes from caring for another living thing. Do it, and give yourself five minutes to enjoy that success before falling asleep in the living room while writing your newspaper column because you’re on a deadline and the baby just won’t stop fussing.

 

Rochester resident Matt Knutson is the communications and events director for United Way of Olmsted County.