Time change. Yawn. My kids don’t understand time change. I don’t understand time change. I don’t understand LOSING an hour of sleep. Do you know how many hours of sleep I’ve already lost in the last decade? Whoever invented that a mom should lose *more* sleep really hasn’t ever been a parent – or a good parent, at least.
I love my kids. Period. BUT there are some things I miss. I miss getting myself ready and having plenty of time to make sure my own teeth are brushed. I miss sitting down at a meal and staying in that seat for the entirety of the meal. I miss having a conversation with my husband from beginning to end, start to finish, no interruptions. I miss vacations where I just laid on the beach with no worries. I miss reading books, not having to hide snack cakes, and then eating said snack cakes in a dark pantry in two, quick, squirrel-like bites. I miss blasting the radio to music without straining to listen if the words are appropriate. I miss privacy.
And I miss sleep. I haven’t slept in eight years. I’m tired and incoherent, and I don’t like coffee, which is a problem for everyone in my life.
I finally just got my new baby sleeping well through the night, so wow, maybe now we can all sleep, right? But for some unholy reason, yesterday I woke up in the middle of the night (and yes, 5 a.m. feels like the middle of the night to me) to a “thump,” “thump,” “THUMP” noise. That USED to concern me that maybe a burglar was breaking in. Nope, just my four-year-old playing basketball in the kitchen before daybreak. Of course. Why not?
If it’s not basketball, it’s a face staring into mine, “mommy, wipe me.” Sometimes that face is saying, “feed me.” Or, “I’m scared.” Or, “is it time to wake up yet?” The worst is, “my covers need to be fixed.” Seriously?
I remember in the early days of marriage when my husband and I would get a day off and we would sleep til 10 a.m., eat brunch, take a nap at 4 p.m., go to bed after midnight. Ahhhh… I need to write about it just to remember it actually existed. We used to joke that we married each other because we both love naps. Sleep has always been a favorite hobby.
But now, there are no “days off,” no “holidays,” no “weekend sleeping in”… they are all the same. We know we are going to wake up by one of three “alarm clocks” (the kids) no matter what the day of the week.
The rare nights when all my kids sleep at the same time, Satan laughs. I am awake anyway, wondering when I’m going to need to wake up or be woken up.
I toss and turn. I am uncomfortable. My hip hurts. My arm falls asleep. I switch positions. My brain worries about all the things I can’t remember in the daylight. I try to decide if I need to go to the bathroom again. I wonder if I remembered to pack the library book and send lunch money. My other arm hurts. I switch positions again. I flip my pillow. Is that what being an adult means? If so, then I give up.
And then I hear a child crying and, all of a sudden, my bed is the most comfortable thing in the whole world. I’m relaxed and cozy and warm. Why can’t my bed be this comfortable any other time of the night?
But my feet hit the floor anyway, because getting up to comfort a child is far greater than any sleep I could ever have. There’s truly nowhere else I’d rather be at 3:30 a.m.
Just don’t talk to me first thing in the morning. Oh and give me my lost hour of sleep back.
