I often
wonder to myself why I’m always so f-ing tired. I generally get a decent amount
of sleep, and take naps as frequently as my kids will allow. Yes, I’m 5 months
along in my surrogate pregnancy so I can chalk it up to baby induced fatigue,
but even before all this I was unendingly bushed. Yes, I have two young, very energetic,
very strong-willed, very loud chilluns, but so do lots of people. Some people
have way more than two, and I can’t even fathom being able to keep up with the
incessant demands of so many, not to mention even more conflict management.
Then it
occurred to me that I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep in years...since before
we got married six years ago, perhaps. Alright, maybe a few lucky nights here
and there, but I sleep so light that I wake up if the cat farts in the next
room (do cats even fart?). Between a 6’6” 200+ lb husband who snores like a
chainsaw and sleeps like a rock, three restless dogs, one nocturnally lively
cat, an overactive pregnant bladder, and two needy kids, I am constantly waking
up.
Let’s
say I go to bed around 10pm. If all goes well, I got the kids down around 8—maybe
9 by the time they finally quit hollering from their rooms for various reasons.
When Dooley’s on the day shift (5:30am-5:30pm with at least an hour commute each way, poor guy), he’s
passed out on the couch at least by 9pm, having been awake since 3:30am that
morning. He may or may not be rouse-able so he may or may not be coming to
bed with me. If he stays on the couch (and the kids stay asleep), I might get a
few hours of solid sleep because hey, no snoring bear to punch till he rolls
over every five minutes.
But
lately Tuesday has been waking up several times a night for no apparent reason;
sometimes she quiets right down, but sometimes it’s the “night terror” crap
that Dirt has mostly outgrown, where they scream and cry inexplicably but are
inconsolable because they’re asleep. It’s the worst. At least it’s not so violent
with Tuesday, because she’s small and less intense. When Dirt had them more
often he would thrash around like a kid coming out from general anesthesia—and
he’s a surprisingly strong little fella.
Here’s an example of a standard night (times approximated):
8:00pm: Kids
in bed.
9:00pm:
Kids finally asleep and quiet…or so I think.
9:30pm:
Dirt gets up and says he has to go potty. Then “I have a hug and kiss for you.”
10:00pm:
Me in bed, asleep the moment I lie down.
10:30pm:
Pete (border collie puppy) is chewing on a bone or something in his kennel. It
is remarkably noisy.
11:00pm:
Tuesday wakes up crying for no reason. I go pee while I’m up.
12:00am:
Dooley gets up off the couch and comes to bed, after loudly fumbling around in
the bathroom.
12:30am: Dooley's snoring.
12:30am: Dooley's snoring.
1:00am:
Tuesday wakes up crying again. I go pee while I’m up.
1:30am:
Bruce (mastiff mix) is scratching so loudly his back foot thumps the floor from
the living room like someone angrily pounding on our front door.
2:00am:
Hotdog (the cat) walks across me with his pokey little paws and purrs loudly in
my face.
2:30am: Dooley's snoring and eating in his sleep.
2:30am: Dooley's snoring and eating in his sleep.
3:00am:
Tuesday falls out of bed and is crying. I go pee while I’m up.
3:30am:
Dooley’s alarm starts going off. He uses his phone alarm, which is louder and more
abrasive than any radio/clock alarm you can imagine. It’s on the loudest
setting with the most jarring possible ringtone, and he pushes the snooze
button for at least thirty minutes. Every. Morning. Freakishly, he could sleep
right through it, but it jolts me right out of my sleep into near-panic mode in
which I punch the hell out of him until he turns it off. Every. Five. Minutes.
I
recently read a short story by Mark Twain called “The McWilliamses and the
Burglar Alarm”, which describes the way a faulty burglar alarm wakes up the
homeowners, which feels eerily similar to the way Dooley’s alarm wakes me up: “…the first effect of that frightful gong is
to hurl you across the house, and slam you against the wall, and then curl you
up, and squirm you like a spider on a stove lid, till somebody shuts the
kitchen door. In solid fact, there is no clamor that is even remotely
comparable to the dire clamor which that gong makes. Well, this catastrophe
happened every morning regularly at five o'clock, and lost us three hours
sleep; for, mind you, when that thing wakes you, it doesn't merely wake you in
spots; it wakes you all over, conscience and all, and you are good for eighteen
hours of wide-awakeness subsequently--eighteen hours of the very most
inconceivable wide-awakeness that you ever experienced in your life.”
4:00am:
Dooley finally turns the damn thing
off and actually gets out of bed. I breathe a sigh of relief until I realize I need to pee again so I stumble to the bathroom, eyes glued shut, and then go back to hiding under the covers. There’s ten or so minutes of Dooley clamoring
about as he gets dressed and gets some food in the kitchen—all cabinets and
microwaves and closets slammed in drowsy carelessness. I think he secretly (or
not-so-secretly) resents the fact that I get to stay in bed several more hours,
and so he turns on bright lights and makes no attempt to keep quiet. In doing
so all the animals in the house are also roused and I’m still wide awake from the alarm. I hug him goodbye and then try with all my might to go back to sleep.
4:30am:
Hotdog is meowing at the door to go outside. I throw a pillow at him.
5:00am:
Hotdog is meowing at the door again. I throw another pillow and stomp on my bed
like a kid throwing a tantrum till he runs out. Much to my dismay, I see a tiny
bit of pale blue in the sky but do my best to catch a few more precious Z’s.
6:45am:
The alarm starts going off on my phone. It is on the lowest possible volume and
the softest, nicest ringtone available. I press the snooze button until about
7:00am, when I finally pour myself out of our ridiculously tall bed and stagger
out of the room.
I have
no idea what on God’s green earth compelled me to sign Dirt up for morning preschool,
seeing as no one in our family is even remotely a morning person, other than
Tuesday. Normally the kids sleep until 8 or so, after which we have a leisurely
morning with an unhurried breakfast and plenty of time to feed all the other beasts.
Now we have to leave the house by 7:40 to be to school by 8, so it’s all
rushing and stress. Dirt is like a teenager when I try to get him out of bed…he
growls and whines and rolls over and hides in his covers and then fights me
every step by getting dressed and eating his to-go waffle as slowly as humanly
possible. (Tuesday is cheerful and perky, but she’s the only one.) He’s also
like a teenager after preschool. When asked what he did in school, he scowls
out the window and mutters “nothing” or if I’m lucky, he says they “just played”.
When I ask him what his favorite part of school was he says “just all of it”,
so at least he seems to enjoy going…even if he hates getting up in the morning
and hates when I ask him questions about it. He’s only 4 ½! WTF.
UGH. So
the model schedule above was loosely based on last night. I recently put the
kids down for their nap and they seem quiet at the moment, so I’m gonna take
this opportunity to have my own self a little nap. Sleepy time is a happy time!
 | |
| This article talks about cortisol levels and how we screw them up, which makes us more tired. |
