Oh yeah, went sleepwalking again last night. Though I didn’t get very far. Nor did I injure myself. Or others. Which could easily have happened. It was another suffocatingly hot night. I’ve got just the one window a/c unit upstairs. Decided the little man and I should have a slumber party in the computer room (spare futon mattress there, on the floor. I’m afraid he’d roll off the bed in my room). It was all good. We sang songs and played peekabo and whatnot before settling in for the night. He fell asleep as I read for a bit. Then I nodded off as well. And then. I woke up round 2am…to find myself pawing/clawing at the wall. In a vain effort to exit the room. Having forgotten about these nifty opposable thumbs. And the location of the door. Doh. I was very disoriented…but quite relieved I hadn’t stepped on Parker. Who was sound asleep just inches from my feet. Which was too close for comfort. Sigh.
It’s cooled off a bit today so I’m hoping we can sleep in our respective rooms this evening. Putting only myself in danger. Reading up on my ‘condition’ I found an article that has got me pegged:
“The most common parasomnias are the ‘disorders of arousal’, which arise from NREM sleep, particularly the deepest stages (slow-wave sleep). These disorders have the following features in common: frequently, a positive family history, which suggests a genetic component; a tendency to arise from slow-wave sleep (with parasomnia usually occurring in the first third of the sleep cycle and rarely during naps); amnesia afterwards for the event; and a common occurrence in childhood with a tendency to decrease in frequency with age. These disorders range from confusional arousals to sleep-walking and sleep terrors.”
Hopefully Parker won’t be so afflicted. But my brother was something of a sleepwalker. As is my Dad. My clearest memory of his somnambulism happened years ago. At the time the bomb squad was still calling him in occasionally (a job that stressed us all out). My brother and I were spending the weekend at his house. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, near the kitchen. At some point my Dad ambled in. He gestured excitedly at the kitchen ceiling fan…and began exclaiming “it’s gonna blow!” several times over. I wanted him to retire then. Eighteen years later he still hasn’t. So stubborn. I suspect there’s a genetic component to that condition as well.
