Posted by Gina Perkins, Pre-School Mommie | Posted in Gina Perkins, The Preschool Mommy | Posted on 06-03-2012
Tags: crazed, exhausted, Gina Perkins, hormonal, nap, pregnant, preschool, Preschool Mommie, sleep, sleep deprived, third trimester, toddler
So, if the purpose of a blog is to serve as a personal journal, or sort of online diary – then it should always be authentic, right?
If that’s the case, then today’s post should go a little something like this:
I’m exhausted. The end.
However, I don’t think I’d draw much readership from such a brief entry, despite how true it may be. So, for the benefit of those reading, along with the joy of looking back on my own experiences someday – I’ll elaborate.
DJ, my precious and lovely 2 1/2 year old, went through another weekend-long nap strike. If you’re keeping track, I’m now just over 36 weeks pregnant. This is an important fact because it 1) explains my level of fatigue, and 2) explains my hormonal craze.
As most of you already know, sleep with DJ (or lack thereof, really) has been the bane of my existence since oh, say, September of 2009 – yep, when she was born. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t accepted that sleep isn’t her strong suit, because I have. I’ve totally made peace with the fact that I haven’t slept more than four consecutive hours for over two years now. And, I’ve even made peace with the reality that I might not ever again. However, on days when I’m feeling really confident that we’ve finally landed in a groove, and the needle comes obnoxiously screeching off the track – I’ve been known to lose it.
Let’s take Saturday for example.
I woke up tired, which is pretty reasonable considering that was at 2:00am. I couldn’t fall back to sleep, so was up and out of bed around 4:30am. I did some writing, posted a recipe on my personal blog, cleaned the house and thought about what to make for breakfast once the troops awoke.
Needless to say, starting your morning in the middle of the night makes for a really long day. So, by the time nap time rolled around, I was THRILLED. No, honestly, I was giddy at the thought of crawling into bed, enjoying some silence and reclaiming some lost hours. DJ, however, had plans of her own – which, for some reason, revolved around torturing me. As usual.
Since my first trimester with this second pregnancy, I have taken to napping when DJ naps. This has morphed into us napping together in “mommy daddy bed,” as she calls our king-sized oasis of cottony duvet goodness. While we go down for our nap at the same time everyday, there’s just no telling how long it will take my little monkey to fall asleep. Unfortunately, I’m a terrible sleeper, too – which really means that unless all of the stars are aligned perfectly, I’m left counting sheep, pigs, goats, horses, Benadryl left in my arsenal, or anything else that pops into mind. In other words, I can’t fall asleep till she does and all in the house is settled and quiet.
So Saturday….we laid down at our usual 12:30 siesta time. Since her daddy was home from work, DJ requested that he lay down with us. While I was charmed by her sweetness (nothing warms my heart more than her loving on her daddy) and the intoxicating thought of cozy family time, the hair on the back of my neck stood up a little.
The hubs snores. I can’t even sleep through a cat fart, let alone his snoring. He has a C-PAP machine, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t consider strapping it on for a nap. I also want to point out that he never ever agrees to napping because he hates how groggy he feels upon waking from them – so to have him commit to this “family nap” meant he was exhausted too. Exhausted = extra loud snoring in my husband’s case. I felt my blood pressure rising, but I didn’t say a word.
He fell asleep immediately, which makes me jealous and tempted to throw darts at him. But, it’s not just him – I want to shoot a pellet gun at anyone who can sleep anywhere, any time. It’s infuriating to me….the one who can’t even sleep on sleeping pills – but that’s sounding like a separate blog post altogether. Anyhow, back to Saturday and the Snorasaurus Rex….so, hubs is off in dreamland and DJ is in between us making up songs. It’s an awful symphony of chainsaws chasing the lyrics “butterfly, go away” on repeat. SOMEONE CHANGE THE TRACK.
I’m laying there, and I’m getting more and more pissed. I figure I’ll leave the duet behind and take up residency on the couch – except that when I leave the bedroom, DJ flips out and her yells are like a percussion hammer to hubs’ patellar tendon and he barks out “DJ, go to sleep!” Which, of course, escalates her distress and lulls him right back to sleep. He always has my back, the sweetie pie.
So, I pee and then climb back into the oasis-turned-torture-chamber and try to Zen my way out of my I’ll-never-freakin-sleep-again funk. DJ grabs onto my hair, which is how she soothes herself when she’s super sleepy. I actually find it almost as annoying as I find people who can sleep, but I hang in there because it usually signals that she’s on the verge of a deep slumber. I lay there, hair being twirled, while my husband’s primal purrs ring out. Love him!
I am feeling my level of stress rapidly increasing. DJ is now fingering my outgrown bangs, which means she’s intermittently touching my face. I hate having my face touched. I roll over, facing the wall rather than my delightfully annoying child. I give her full reign to the back of my mane, but no, she demands more. “I WANT TO GO IN YOUR ARMS, MOMMY!” she wales. Another blow to the patellar tendon, and my husband roars “You want a timeout?” Oh Lord, yes, yes, I do!!! Put me in solitary confinement, PLEASE. Oh wait, he’s talking to DJ. Ugh. She cries harder, he snores louder. My pulse is racing.
I turn to face her again, certain that she’s seconds away from falling asleep. I can tolerate a few more bang twirls. I can. I can. At least I think I can. And then, I scream “DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR! NO MORE TOUCHING MY HAIR. IF YOU TOUCH MY HAIR ONE MORE TIME, I WILL SCREAM!”
There’s something magical about screaming out threats of screaming. Oh, sweet release.
I almost didn’t recognize the deep, gravely voice emerging from the depths of my sleep-deprived soul – but yeah, considering the look on my daughter’s face, I was left to believe that it did indeed come from me. We both sat for a second, the snoring in the background our suspense-laden soundtrack, looking at one another in shock. Finally, DJ breaks the ice – fearlessly, matter-of-factly, and sans tears.
“I no want to sleep mommy. I ready to get up.” And just like that, after more than an hour of hoping, really, really hoping that we could all just get some flippin’ sleep – I (super dramatically) threw the blankets off myself, rolled my nearly immoveable body off the king-sized piece of crap and huffed daggers at my husband. He sat straight up, a bit confused at what was happening. I moaned “I give up.” I seriously couldn’t believe that I hadn’t frightened the energy right out of my toddler, thereby launching her into a sleep coma. Had I lost my touch?
Within minutes, everyone was outta bed, because when Momma’s not happy – ain’t nobody happy.
I’m exhausted. The end.