I don't exactly know what happens in training, but from about six months old, Daphne is in bed at 6:30 and she basically waves to you and rolls over and goes to sleep. And you don't hear from her until you go in to get her at whatever time. Seriously. She usually wakes sometime between 6:30 and 7:30 but you don't hear a peep from her until you go get her. She just lays there entertaining herself quietly.
It's odd how grief is capable of presenting itself in all manner of ways. Sometimes it's like a freight train you see coming but powerless to stop it. It just plows you down and rolls its boxcars over you clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.
Other times you're just floating along minding your own business and it sneaks up on you in the form an "add washer fluid" icon on your dash. It devastated me. I knew neither whether I even owned any nor how to add it. Instead I went and got my oil changed because I knew they'd top it up.
I know, you might think it's sad that I'm so clueless, but we had our roles. He didn't know how to make spaghetti or iron a shirt.
But he did open the pickles. Twice now I've cried over jars of pickles tormenting me by refusing to release their grip on their lids. Baby dills and asparagus.
This arrived today from Amazon:
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| It even has an arrow to remind you what way to turn it. |
I'm sure every grieving spouse has their own list of things that they find difficult to adjust to. Sleeping alone topping the list for many. For many years Albert worked straight nightshift at the pulp mill and was gone 5pm to 6am. I slept alone more than a 1/3 of the time so this is not something that is a huge adjustment for me. This doesn't make it any less horrible, it just means I get to bypass the phase of being nervous and learning how warm up my own cold feet, because I've already got that experience.
So, I say I'd never heard of sleep training, but in fact I was in sleep training for quite a number of years.
And for that I am grateful.
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