Mom & Me Four Archive

...every time my mother stands I've been guiding her through stretching out of her hips, thighs and rib cage. Once I get a satisfied sigh out of her, I seduce her into a short "hootchy kootch" with her hips. This exercise pulls her "poor old bones" [her words] into some semblance of their prime order, reminds her body of its innate flexibility and allows her to balance herself. Because this simple, short stretch is so beneficial, sometimes, if she's been "sitting too long" [also her words], I have her rise and run her through it just for the hell of it. I've assumed, since its inception, that I will, from now on, be reminding her to do this. This morning, though, during her bath, she ran herself through it immediately after she rose from the toilet for torso washing. I was so surprised and pleased I blurted, "My goodness, I believe I'm going to have to dub you 'Gold Star Woman'!" This relates to my habit of teasing her through bathing by "starring" her efforts.
    She grinned and did a fair imitation of a curtsy.
    I was about to write, "I guess old lions can learn new tricks." I was interrupted, though, by my mother, leaning over the railing, startling me by telling me that if I was planning on sleeping in her room "again tonight" she'd like to know when I'll be coming to bed.
    She retired at 0140. Her light went off at 0200.
    "Well, no, Mom. I was planning on sleeping in my own room tonight, as I always do."
    "Which room is that?" she quizzed, as though we have many rooms in the house (which we don't) and I sleep around.
    "The back room, Mom, just down the hall from yours. That's where I always sleep."
    By this time I'd walked her back into her bedroom.
    "I know you usually sleep there," she said, "but you didn't last night. You slept with me."
    "Well, my recollection is that I slept in my bedroom, but perhaps my spirit was in your room."
    She laughed. "That must be it."
    "Mom," I said, as I always do, now, just in case we're at that point, "do you want me to sleep with you?"
    The only times I've slept with her were for a few months while she was recovering from her back injury in 2003 and a few other times, like the low sodium incident, when she's been particularly weak. Other than these, she has typically preferred that we not share sleeping quarters, which is more than fine with me.
    Her response: "If you want to sleep with me, I'd be more than happy to have you."
    Hmmm...that didn't help. "Mom," I said, deciding to be direct, "would you feel better if I slept with you?"
    "I was thinking you might."
    I laughed. "Mom, you know how I feel about sleeping in a warm room! And, I know how you feel about sleeping in a cold room! I can't see that there's a comfortable way for both of us to compromise on this unless you sleep with hot water bottles or I sleep on ice!"
    "You have a point," she said, her eyes glittering.
    It was that glitter that told me that she isn't, yet, feeling the need for a sleep buddy.
    We have this discussion every couple of months, always initiated by my mother. Sometimes she initiates it because she thinks I'm just visiting and she's not sure that I've figured out where I'm supposed to sleep. Sometimes, though, I consider that we're slowly working our way toward sharing a bedroom for the rest of her life, in which case I will adapt. I've done it before. I can do it again, if it allows her to feel safe and me to feel better prepared to assist her.
    Nevertheless, it might be a good idea if I begin to survey my bedroom with an eye to fitting both of us into it, since mine is the larger of the two, twice the size of hers. Maybe, with Mom on one side and me on the other, we can each enjoy our optimum sleep temperatures. At that point, hers will probably become a storage room.
    In the meantime, the older of our beloved cats, The Little Girl, who has a heightened sense of responsibility and protectiveness toward Mom, will no doubt continue to awaken me with light scratching on my chin or forehead if she perceives something unusual going on in Mom's bedroom. So far, all these incidents have been unusual episodes of snoring or other types of loud breathing, in which Mom indulges infrequently. I like that The Little Girl does this, though, and always praise her and pet her for her vigilance. One of these days her alertness may become my mother's lifeline.
    Ahh, it's 0300 and her light has just gone out again. She's settled. Good. So am I.
    Later.