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Illustration by Drew Shannon
I don’t mean to boast, but I was once a good sleeper. One of the best, maybe. Every night, with ease, I’d get eight to 10 hours of uninterrupted, blissful rest that left me fresh and energetic, ready for any day. That all changed with the birth of my identical twin daughters Harriet and Maude. For more than a year now, I have not slept.
Before children, I had no appreciation for good sleep. I took it for granted and was completely unprepared for dealing with what it would mean to be sleep deprived.
I was enamoured with my daughters from the start. In disbelief that we had produced such beautiful beings, with their swollen faces and bright blue eyes. But no matter how much love you have, caring for multiples can feel untenable, especially when you’re not sleeping.
The hardest part was learning how susceptible I was to feelings of anger, fear and paranoia. Intrusive thoughts constantly beat me down.
I can’t do anything right.
I’m a horrible parent and everyone knows it.
I hate everyone.
To have these dark thoughts at a time of such overwhelming love was disorienting. What’s wrong? Where’s my resiliency? Is it the sleep, or am I ill-suited to be a father? Over and over again, in a kind of deluded mantra, I’d mutter, “If I could just sleep five hours. Five hours …”
At six weeks I decided to ask Google “when can twin parents expect to sleep?” The response: “Parents of twins can expect a return to prepregnancy sleep at an average of six to nine years postbirth.” The tears were immediate.
How could no one have warned me? Everyone we talked to, all those books we read, none of them mentioned the anxiety and irritability you feel from not sleeping. That multiples class we took at the hospital made it sound so easy! “This is how you change a diaper. Now because you have two, repeat the process.” It was only after the twins were born that people started telling us the truth.
“You think it’s bad now, wait until the four-month sleep regression.”
“I didn’t want to say anything while you were pregnant, but we were all scared for ya.”
At eight weeks, my parental leave ended and I returned to work. I tried to tell myself, “This is good. It will be a break of sorts.” Not so. As I tried to get back in the swing of things, I was horrified to discover what the lack of sleep had done to my concentration. I could not read. And the intrusive thoughts came flooding in. “Oh my God, I can’t do anything. I’m going to lose my job. And then my apartment. And then my kids. I’m a failure.”
Then my sleep-addled brain started to scheme. “Maybe I could take a few days off and not tell Jess (my partner). I could go over to a friend’s place, nap on their couch, return home at 5, letting her think I’d worked a full day. I just need a few days to reset.” But Jess would have sniffed out my lies immediately. Looking rested would have been a dead giveaway.
At 10 weeks, I was really at a loss. I had these two beautiful babies in my life, and I was falling apart. I thought the whole world was mad at me, and soon it would all collapse.
And then a miracle. One night, as I placed Maude on the change table for what was the 12th diaper change of the day, she flashed the biggest, gummiest smile and a wave of joy hit me so hard I inadvertently emitted a high-pitched sound I had no idea I was capable of making. I was delirious with happiness. Before that first smile, it was almost as if the idea of Harriet and Maude being humans was more theoretical than fact. But now everything came rushing into focus.
A few days later, Harriet flashed her own gummy beautiful smile. At four months, the sweetest laughs. At six months, they began crawling and at eight months they were cruising and climbing so much we had to move out of our Toronto apartment owing to lack of space and into a house in Hamilton (something I thought I’d never do), and I’m so happy.
A year on, I still haven’t slept and my emotions at times are still erratic, but something has changed. The lack of sleep isn’t so weighty. Watching my daughters grow is the single most entertaining, exciting and heartwarming thing I could ever imagine, and I get to experience it every day and all day (with the exception of when I’m at work, where I am now reading again).
Becoming a father to twins is nothing I could have prepared for. But if I were to pass on any advice to any expecting parent, it would be an awareness. An awareness that, right now, you may not know what “being tired” really means. Be nice to yourself. And be nice to your partner. Sleep will come. Don’t wish time away. Because before too long, your babies will smile and laugh and crawl, and you’ll be asking for time to slow down.
Sam Myles lives in Hamilton.
