My preschooler is killing me slowly and steadily. Her choice of weapon? Sleep deprivation.
Please tell me why she can’t adjust her own blanket in the middle of the night? How is it easier to climb out of bed, slip through the darkened hallway, jerk open my bedroom door, tiptoe up to my bed and wait…?
Eventually she’ll call out “mom” louder and louder until I respond.
Last night she actually began poking me!
Now, before you judge me as a mean mom (which I totally am at times, but in this case I am absolutely justified), understand that this is not the first time she woke me up this night.
In fact, for two weeks she has gotten me up 1 -2 times each night! (Insert exhausted, angry, and psycho emojis here.) And yet, for a few glorious months prior she had been sleeping all night for about six nights each week! (Yes, I too just heard the angels singing “Hallelujah!”)
Frankly, I’m a little surprised my milk hasn’t come in by this point.
Muscle memory surely has to remember these sleep-disturbed nights, right? Waking up to breastfeed a baby two or three times a night…! I swear I produced skim milk that went right through our babies, but that’s a story for another time.
Actually, I’m pretty sure both my mind and body have blocked out those sleepless periods for the sake of survival. My children’s survival, that is.
I’m starting to understand why certain insects or animals eat their young.
Pardon me, it’s hard to focus in this droopy-eyed state.
I’m definitely getting too old for these sleepless nights. She, of course, goes back to sleep after I adjust that darn blanket. But not me! I lay awake for so long getting more and more angry at everything — especially my husband who is blissfully asleep next to me.
I wonder, just how hard could I kick him before he realized what actually woke him?
Then my lengthy to-do list flashes through my mind. We are taking a road trip in a few days which means I have a ton to do before we leave!
By now I should just get up to clean the house. In fact, I should turn on all the lights, start vacuuming and slamming doors — just to see if I can rouse anyone else from their precious slumber. This miserable mom wants company at 3 a.m.!
I don’t actually do it… (I really should though.)
Instead, after an hour — or two — I finally drift back to sleep. Shortly thereafter the wretched alarm goes off. I pitifully stumble out of bed, towards the bathroom.
Seeing my reflection proves there is truth in the old adage “beauty sleep.” I am the epitome of the opposite. I think I’ll create a new saying for it: “Haggard, hideous, sleep-deficient, creature-like state.” Pretty catchy, actually.
The good news is that it’s Friday. People are generally too cheerful before the weekend to call each other out on how frightful we look, right?
I think denial is yet another sign of sleep-deprivation.
I am going to burn that stupid blanket that woke her for the umpteenth time last night. On second thought, if I do that she will probably wake me up tonight asking that I find it for her…
I better go take care of my mental health for 21 minutes. Well, at least that’s how long my nap alarm is set for; my bet is the little she-devil herself will burst through my door in seven minutes flat.
To all you amazing moms who merrily go along each day, cute and cheerful despite your harrowing nights, I bow to you (merely so I can rest my head for a moment or two).
And to my fellow exhausted moms out there, let’s keep it real with a big yawn and a Hunger Games salute. May the [sleep] odds be ever in your favor.