Sleepwalker

Somnambulist, noctambulist - there are all sorts of really cool five-penny words to describe what amounts to a whole heap of excitement  in our house. Abby, it seems, has become quite the sleepwalker.

We probably should have expected it. My husband, I hear, sleepwalked frequently as a child. I'd be tempted to insinuate that it is entirely his fault for passing this trait along, but I had frequent recurring nightmares, and she inherited those, too.

You can always count on your kids inheriting all of your collective worst traits. Good genes are meek and compliant and recessive. Bad genes are bold and dominant. It's a cosmic law that applies as much to highly evolved creatures (such as humans and attorneys) as it does all the way down at the amoeba-level. Bad amoebas in lakes and ponds everywhere are leaning back against their hot rods, ever so cool, while all the innocent young amoebas go wild with desire. It's the way of nature.

So anyway, she's 7, and she's been scampering all over the house at all hours, wreaking various forms of havoc. I'll be sitting on the sofa reading, and catch Mowgli out of the corner of my eye. Only it's not Mowgli, it's Abby. And I think she might have licked the cat.

The sleepwalking, in this case, often seems to be combined with vivid dreams or nightmares (an example of negative genetic traits combining forces to keep parents exhausted).  She seems to be looking for company and comfort, or a mouthful of cat hair, whichever.

As is common with sleepwalkers, It's very hard to tell that she's actually asleep. Her eyes arguably have a more vacant stare (not unlike the one she uses in front of the television) but she often holds perfectly cogent conversations on such things as, "Do hermit crabs get birthday parties?" or, "What keeps palm trees from tipping over?" The odd topics might seem like a tip-off, but it's essentially indistinguishable from the banter that goes on while driving to school in the morning.

The only reliable method of determining if she's awake and aware is to give her a "magic word" such as cowboy, or Tinkerbell - that, should she fail to recall it when queried in the morning, would indicate that indeed she was asleep. This hindsight method, I'll admit, isn't particularly helpful in the wee hours, when I'm trying to figure out whether to chastise her for violating the standing post-8:30-pm "go to sleep" directive, or compassionately walk her back to her room for a prolonged, precautionary re-tuck.

Unable to go back to sleep after one episode, I looked "sleepwalking" up on the Internet, to see if maybe there was some miracle cure that involved steamed vegetables, or increased tooth-brushing. I found out a lot of stuff, none of it particularly useful:

What should I do if my child sleepwalks?
Prevent injury by removing dangerous objects from areas that your child might reach.

(Of course, after I finally took off all the child protection locks and spackled the holes.)

Keep doors and windows closed and locked. If necessary, your child may have to sleep on the ground floor of your home.

(And then, how do we keep her from sleepwalking up the stairs?)

When you find your child sleepwalking, guide her back to bed. Don't yell or make a loud noise to wake her up, or strike or shake her. Sometimes urination occurs in  inappropriate places. Do not make her feel ashamed about sleepwalking.

(I'm not the type of mother who routinely treats her children like a stubborn bottle of ketchup, anyway. But I'm worried about the times she materializes behind me when I'm reading Stephen King. How hard, exactly, should I try NOT to shriek? Whose inappropriate urination are they talking about?)

Should I worry if my child sleepwalks?
No. Most children who sleepwalk don't have emotional problems.

(This, after they just told me that I have to deadbolt my windows, remove the offending staircase, and deadly eating utensils. How about emotional problems in the parent?)

What happens to children who sleepwalk?
Most children outgrow sleepwalking. If sleepwalking continues for a long time, talk to your doctor. Medication may be used to treat it.

(The old "talk to your doctor" ruse. I'd think it would be a little rude to call him at 2 in the morning. "But the Internet told me to…")

Far from being upset, Abby finds her sleepwalking tendencies highly entertaining. She looks forward to the "magic word" guessing game (confident that "Rumplestiltskin" will someday hit), and inquires as to the particulars of the incident. Sometimes I'm forced to make things up, just to satisfy her. 

"You ate a piece of asparagus, Abby! And then you brushed your teeth! It was the strangest thing I ever saw!"