I had one of those long, semi-tortorous nights during which I clocked maybe 4 hours of sleep and that was intermittent at best. The Smilus has a runny nose and can't breathe well when he lays down nor when he nurses so I basically can't bring him any comfort and he can't sleep. On top of that, for some inexplicable reason I couldn't fall asleep around 11 when I went to bed, even though I cracked open The Grapes of Wrath, which up until last night did the trick of putting me right out nearly instantaneously.
We spent two super awesomely fun hours from midnight to 2 am crying and trying to sleep, and I do mean both of us. I've reached a point in this rearing an infant phase where the sleep deprivation is so profound that I have thoughts only a crazy person would, like, "He's five months old. It's high time he gets his shit together." You see my point? Only months and months of less than adequate sleep can produce such ludicrous ideas.
Though I can't seem to take the big leap to moving him out of our bedroom (mostly because that marks a permanent end to a beloved chapter in my mother life of as many midnight cuddles and feedings as I care to have with my baby) I have been thinking more and more about it, especially in moments of raw agony where punching my pillow repeatedly or screaming into it seems like a reasonable outlet for my pure exhausted desperation.
As a result of my overnight adventure in sleeplessness, I have consumed two carafes of coffee (that oughta help me catch up on my z's tonight!) and wandered around from chore to chore trying to stay alert and not be too snappish with Boy Wonder, our older son. After all, I must remember it's not his fault mama has not rested well (though it IS his fault when he acts like a little asshole.) I know, I know, I shouldn't call my 3 year old an asshole but let's face it, just like me, he sometimes acts like one.
The Man reminded me this morning to just hang in there. It's Friday and therefore, a margarita prize awaits me when I successfully make it through to the end of it. It may not seem like a big deal, but it's enough of a carrot to keep me walking through this day, even if like a crabby, filth spewing zombie.
All day, and for weeks really, I've been daydreaming about this yoga retreat I was invited on in Mexico in September. I really, really want to go but when I originally floated it past The Man we both decided it was too long and too expensive. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. And I have this thing where once I get something in my mind I can't let it go and I must make it happen. I didn't push or anything so maybe it was just yet another case of The Man and I being telepathically connected but when I casually brought it up last week he, much to my surprise and delight, told me that if I could figure out child care, he'd not only support me going, he'd support me going, as in pay for the retreat. WTF?! I don't know what I did to deserve this, you know, other than grow two human beings, push them out into this world without so much as a tylenol, and nurse them to healthy and vigorous life with milk my body produced, but I'll take it!
So, as I push through this day, tired but ultimately completely content, it's because I see a week of an entire room to myself that I will SLEEP in with twice daily yoga sessions with beach and cocktail time sandwiched between them every time I let my mind wander. It's coming.
How's that for an effing carrot?
And, how do you feel about babysitting?