Stolen Sleep

The hour hand on the clock had barely caressed the midnight hour, and I'd actually gotten to bed early that night. 10:30 probably. I thought I was knocked the eff out, but the sudden, piercing scream from the next room brought me to my son's bedside in all of 5 seconds.

He was trying to stand in his bed, eyes squinting open and screaming wordlessly. For the fifth time this week, I tried to calm my 4 year old, tried in vain to let him know that he's okay, he's safe. Mommy's here.

But he couldn't hear me. Couldn't see me. It was as if he were sleepwalking... though this was no quiet stroll through the house. No one wandered outside with a toilet plunger, sword fighting with his brother against the sheik.

Still, when I held the Cheeky Bandit tight in my arms, he couldn't stop screaming. I pleaded with him to hear me, see me, feel me... know that I was there with him. I didn't have to put my hand to his chest to know that his little heart was racing, visibly thumping to keep company with the cold sweat that clung to his skin.

It took me 20 minutes to calm him, to bring him peace and help him fall back asleep. All this time over the last week, I thought he'd either been having nightmares or looking for reasons to sneak into Mommy's room. No wonder it had taken me so long to get over being sick... I hadn't been sleeping.

It wasn't until that last episode that the term "night terrors" came to mind. A "nightmare" would indicate that he'd had a dream, might have even remembered it or had a visual. But when we were getting ready for school the next morning, he'd had no recollection of what had happened just a few hours before.

He'd had dreams of Santa when he'd fallen back asleep. Hmph. Kid's a bit early, don'tcha think? ;)

I used to think that one of my greatest fears was not being there when they needed me... But in those 20 minutes, I got a glimpse of what it would feel like to actually be there and not be able to give them what they needed. That feeling of helplessness. Of not being able to comfort them and take their pain away.

He's FOUR years old. It's sooooo not time for that yet. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. "When" - coz I know it's not a matter of "if."

We said our prayers together again, a little more fervently this time, and if I hadn't been able to watch him drift into a calm slumber, I might've had my own version of nightmares.

Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever dealt with night terrors before?