I know I’ve done it before, but it’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to. Enticing, no?
I’ve been sleeping like just not sleeping well, and I have to sleep in order to be funny otherwise I’m just a strung out harpy who writes run on sentences.
Andrew hasn’t been sleeping great, but it hasn’t been awful either. He fusses every couple of hours for a minute or two, and I feed him once or twice. The problem is that I’ve had an extremely hard time going back to sleep after he wakes me up. So if he fusses for three minutes, I’m up for an hour. There’s not much I can do besides lay there and try to “quiet my mind” which is a load of you-know-what if you’re a worrier like me. I start worrying about worrying. Since I can’t take any medicine, I’m pretty much hosed.
This presents one strike against breastfeeding: it’s really put a damper on my recreational drug use.
He’s also developed a nasty habit of waking at 4:30 and wanting to be up for 30-45 minutes. Even if we just sit in the glider, he plays with my face and talks to the ceiling for at least half an hour. He then goes back to sleep until I wake him up at 6:20 to get ready, which royally pisses him off.
So here’s what last night looked like:
9:30 – 12:45 Blissful snooze
12:45 – 12:47 Fussing (him)
12:45-1:30ish Awake (me)
1:30 – 2:30 Blissful snooze
2:30 – 2:50 Feeding
2:50 – 3:30 Lay awake thinking strange thoughts*
3:30 – 4:30 Blissful snooze
4:30 – 5:15 Feeding/awake
5:15 Time for my alarm to go off. I decide to take my shower then go back to sleep for fifteen minutes.
5:30 Sharply poke my snoring spouse, then ask him if he has any alarms set to go off before 6:00 (he has this wonderful habit of setting multiple alarms to go off at random intervals up to an hour before he has any intention of actually getting out of bed. If we ever get divorced, I’m putting this as the reason. Screw that “irreconcilable differences” garbage.) He mumbles that he does not.
5:30 – 5:37ish Try in vain to quiet my mind. Feel myself begin to relax.
5:38 His alarm blares. In my core, in the innermost sanctum of my being, I long to put a bar of soap in a tube sock and beat the shit out of him.
5:38 I get up for the day.
6:15ish He gets up for the day.
*Strange thoughts include the beginnings of this post, thoughts about trainings to do at work, and wondering whether our 20something Computer Tech at school (name: X. Really. Not changed to protect the ignorant-of-this-blog’s-existence. Really goes by X, professionally and personally) went by that name as a child. Think about how weird that would be to have on your locker as a first grader. Wonder if it’s weird that I’m wondering about our CT.