My ultimate fantasy features a hotel room. Let me clarify. In my fantasy, I am alone in said hotel room. I understand this isn’t the usual image conjured up when a hotel fantasy is mentioned, so let me fill out the details for you.

This is just your regular, clean hotel room. A fluffy white comforter, extra pillows and high thread count sheets is a plus, but not mandatory. Heavy drapes and a humming fan are a must to ensure uninterrupted sleep. Nearby rooms should be empty to avoid listening to someone else’s creaking mattress or late-night movie.

This hotel room, in case you haven’t figured this out by now, is for sleeping. In my fantasy, I wake up only to turn over and snuggle into the covers before drifting off again. There is no baby wanting milk, no screaming child or snoring husband. There is also no phone ringing, door knocking or distant gardener going wild with the leaf blower. If I’m feeling particularly indulgent, I might imagine taking a hot bubble bath, maybe even with candles and a good novel that I can read in one sitting between naps.

I suspect that I’m not the only mom who has entertained the thought of vanishing into the night. I refuse to believe that most mothers adapt well to the cruel torture of long-term sleep deprivation.

My oldest son was a terrible sleeper. He was colicky and up nursing every couple hours for months. When he did sleep, I couldn’t sleep for fear that he would wake up again. One night, I didn’t think I could make it. It was only 3 a.m. and it was obvious that baby had no intention of sleeping. My head throbbed and I was starting to hallucinate. I knew I couldn’t make it to dawn. I woke my husband with car keys in hand.

“I’m going to a hotel,” I said handing him the baby.

“You can’t do that,” he said. And I cried because I knew I couldn’t.

Now I have a second baby that doesn’t sleep well. With ear plugs, sound machines and more help from my husband, I can handle that part. However, lately my older son has regressed after sleeping through the night for years. Apparently the two boys are in a secret competition to see who can steal more of mommy’s sleep time.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve often fantasized about grabbing my car keys and heading to a hotel. At least I have an escape plan, even if it is a selfish one.

Last night was particularly bad. It was 5 a.m. and my longest sleep stretch had been one hour.

“I’m about five minutes away from going to a motel,” I told my husband.

“Sure,” he said. “Take the kids.”

By Maya Creedman

Labels: Maya Creedman

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