I may have written about this neurosis of mine in a previous post, but it bears re-posting because it’s still, inexplicably, present in my life.
I have a fear that if my son sleeps longer than his usual wake-up time, that he has died in his sleep. When he was a baby, and he slept beyond his anticipated waking time, I would begin to think that he wasn’t waking up because he had died. Of course, as I was talking myself into this irrational fear, I was
also simultaneously telling myself how unlikely that was, and how silly
I was for still fretting over such a thing. Yet, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I was being irrational, the thought just wouldn’t leave my mind until he woke up. Sometimes, as minutes passed, I would be almost totally convinced that
he had died. I’d prepare myself to walk into his room and see his
lifeless body. When he was very young, the fear had, perhaps, a greater potential to be true, what with SIDS and all…
He never did die. Not yet, at least. Now that he’s 12, I still find myself (not as often, mind you) preparing myself to see him dead when I walk in to his room.
These days, he’s usually up well before 9am each day, whether he has to be or not. I got up at 10-ish and realised that he was still in his bedroom. Notice I didn’t just say “realised he was still asleep in his bedroom”. Yes, again I began to think that, since he wasn’t up, he was dead. And so began another battle in my mind regarding the life-status of my son. As much as I’d tell myself the notion is preposterous, and as much as I’d agree, completely, with that line of thought, the ‘he is dead’ concern wouldn’t completely leave my mind.
He came skipping down the stairs at around 10:45. I think it was the latest that he’s ever slept in.
Now that he’s entering those awkward teen years, I’m going to have to adjust my “he’s dead” clock to accomodate his upcoming predisposition to sleeping in.