Enter Sandman

I swore to myself that this blog would not become a repository of baby-related rhapsodies once I gave birth. And I am going to stick to that promise. Right after I tell you that Jade has the biggest belly I've ever seen this morning. Geesh. That kid can eat. Apparently I AM a "high producer," as D says.

Anyhoo, in the interest of promoting reduced baby content on this blog, did I ever tell you about the time I attended a Metallica concert?

I was dating a guy who liked metal a lot at the time. He coaxed me into coming to the concert with a few of his friends, and a mutual friend of ours who was a rare breed: a female metalhead. I liked Metallica well enough, but I wouldn't say I was a huge fan. Sure, in the 80's, I had veered dangerously into metalhead territory with my growing penchant for bands like Motley Crue and Ratt, but I was saved by the punk and new wave music some friends introduced me to. It was like an intervention.

I thought Metallica did have considerable talent despite the screaming vocals and grinding guitars, so I bought a ticket and off we went to Copps Coliseum in Hamilton. When we got there, I realized I was dressed completely inappropriately: everyone - and I mean EVERYONE - was wearing black. Black shirts, black jackets, black jeans, black boots. I wore my favourite red shirt, embroidered jeans and running shoes. Oops.

The thing I remember most about that concert was the song "Enter Sandman." I'm still partial to the song because of the creepy lyrics and trance-inducing rhythm, but that night I was particularly excited about it as it was one of the few songs they played that I knew the words to. As I belted out the lyrics along with a coliseum full of other people, I decided it was time to try thrashing. My friends had been doing it to every song, and practically everyone else was doing it too, including the band.

Thrashing, for those of you who have never tried it, is the act of flinging your head (and preferably your long, dyed black hair) back and forth in time to heavy metal music. If you're good, you can lean to one side and get your whole torso going. If you're REALLY good, you can do this all while playing air guitar.

What I failed to realize was just how much neck muscle is actually required in order to thrash to more than one song. Encouraged by the thumbs up I received from my female metalhead friend, I thrashed enthusiastically for the rest of the concert. The next morning, I couldn't lift my head off my pillow. It felt like I had a pumpkin attached to my neck by a thread.

Why am I telling you all this, dear reader? Well, this was just one of the many random memories that's drifted across my mind during a 4am feeding. It seems particularly significant because Jade's head bobs around like a drunken thrasher if not supported, and because the Sandman is someone I have come to appreciate during these first four weeks of mummyhood.

I can't say I've ever appreciated the wonder of sleep the way I have lately. I can actually pinpoint the moment before I fall asleep, something I've never noticed before in my life. It's like I'm tiptoeing up to the edge of a very deep chasm - think Grand Canyon or Hoover Dam or Niagara Falls - looking down for a moment, then blissfully plunging over the edge. No screaming, no splat; just a delightful floaty feeling and poof! I'm asleep. It's glorious.

At first I was afraid I'd be irritable and resentful at having my sleep interrupted by baby. As lovely and wanted as she is, I am a pretty big fan of my zzz's. Thankfully I have come to view the 2, 3, or 4 hour stretches I get to sleep as exciting opportunities to nap, rather than whinging about the fact that I can't get a good night's sleep anymore. Napping is always a good thing, right? Thankfully Jade shares my enthusiasm for naps too. Enter Sandman indeed.

Guess I did end up talking a bit about baby, didn't I?