I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Right?

Just now I stood over the Keurig machine and sighed HARD. Because the thing would not hurry the hell up and make my coffee. That's right. The Keurig was not fast enough. I think this speaks volumes about the state of my life and my brain these days. Even as I type this, Juicy Thatdangdog (this is the latest conjugation of his name, you see), is scratching at the window behind my head barking his face off because he wants his dinner. GET IN LINE, YOU FAT BASSET. It seem like everyone needs something all the time. And I'm so tired I sometimes wonder if my head is about to roll right off my body, bounce a few times, and make its way out the front door.

It doesn't help that it's been two weeks (or has it been three? I'm not really even sure what day it is now so it's anyone's guess!) since I got a solid night of sleep. First there was Elijah's nine-month sleep regression. And teething! And pre-crawling! And then I sneezed too close to his door as I passed by to go to bed in my room and he was up for two hours! Whee! 

And then there's this other thing: His sister is nearly three and therefore has no Inside Voice. And if she sees him napping or drifting off to sleep she's all "HEY MOM? IS ELIJAH SLEEPING?! HE'S NOT SLEEPING?!" and then it's all over. The poor kid never naps, I never get a break, we try to get them to bed early but invariably they go to bed at the same time anyway and then a few hours later one or the other is up in the night and then suddenly it's 6 am and we're up for the day and NO! ONE! NAPS!


(Asleep at the car wash while Sister's at preschool. Survival mode.)

I'm frustrated because I know that right now? These are the golden days in my life with our kids. I want to enjoy every single second. But I am too easily frustrated and irritated and stressed out. I don't have the energy I want because I don't get enough rest (and so any time to myself – on the rare occasion I get it – is wasted on zoning out or catching up on chores that I cannot manage with my little people hanging off me). I don't respond the way I want to when things are challenging. I put on the t.v. too long. I growl when I lurch out of bed again to tend to someone who needs me.

Is it any wonder that I'm feeling a little nutty and brain-dead and under-caffeinated? Any time anyone asks me how I'm doing I'm a broken record: "I'm ok. So tired. Hanging in there." But that is the best I can do. If my husband suggests doing anything more labor-intensive than watching a movie before bed I quite literally laugh in his face. Scrabble?! OH HA HA HA NO. It's all I think about as I drag myself around. I bemoan it because I'm fully aware that one day I will long for little hands to reach for me! To hear a small voice call for Mama! I should be soaking this up now before it's too late! 

There should have been some kind of evolutionary leap that allows mothers to survive (and thrive!) on little to no sleep. Because this is getting out of hand.

(and this is the mantra/prayer I am saying to myself all the time. Heaven help me.)



7 thoughts on “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Right?

  1. A'Dell says:

    Did you read Linda’s post the other day about how since her kids are now 3 and 6 it feels like she’s out of jail now? Yes, I think THOSE are the golden years and not these and we are just fooling ourselves into thinking that NOW is the best time. No, I think the best time is when they listen and speak english and go to bed at a decent hour and STAY IN BED.

    Right now shit is just haaaard. I am with you. This is fun and all, but I keep thinking that the best is yet to come. There are better days ahead of me than the sleepless night I just had. One day, we will sleep. In the meantime, one day at time.


  2. christina says:

    Girl, I KNOW! I got a short break when Ben was 10 months, he slept for two weeks. Now he’s 13.5 months and i JUST sleep trained him for good 5 nights ago. 13 months awake and I was everything you describe here. Short, zombie, full of guilt and doubt and sorrow.
    It will end, eventually. I can’t say when but when it does you will be yourself again. Promise! Hang in.

  3. Elsha says:

    When Will was 9 months old (which would have made Kalena like 28 months) was when I hit my “I HAVE to sleep again or I AM GOING TO DIE!” point. We introduced a transition object (at the suggestion of my pediatrician who I love and who totally understood that I was going to die) and after that things got So. Much. Better. He started napping for more than 20 minutes, and actually started sleeping through the night. And then I remembered what it was like to be human.

    And I’m with A’Dell, when things are that hard? That cannot POSSIBLY be the best times. I promise it gets better.

  4. Jennifer says:

    I felt so guilty the first 4ish months of my son’s life when people were all, “Enjoy this time, it goes by so fast, ” and I was all, “THANK GOD.” 😉

    I am nothing without sleep. My son is now 9mo and we just found out we’re pregnant again. Who’s scared of stretch marks? Labor? Childbirth? Breastfeeding?
    I’m just freaking out about the impending doom that is months with no sleep (and no forseeable nap opportunities!)…

    But there is a light! One day they’ll sleep! (They have to at some point… right?)

  5. Mama Bub says:

    Oh man, do we need to get together if only to say, “This? IS HARD?” And then devise a plan for a caffeine IV that will make us rich.

  6. Doing My Best Still says:

    Oh, THANK YOU for that poem! I’m going to type it up RIGHT NOW and hang it on my wall! Here’s another one you might like (I have this hanging on my front door to give people fair warning 😉 ):


    Come in. But don’t expect to find all the dishes done; all floors ashine.

    Observe the crumpled rug, the toys galore, the smudgy fingerprinted door.

    The little ones we shelter here don’t thrive on spotless

    They’re more inclined to disarray and carefree, even messy

    Their needs are great, their patience small. All day I’m at their beck and call.

    It’s “Mommie come” “Mommie see!” Wiggly worms and red-scraped knee.

    Painted pictures, blocks piled high, my floors unshined, the days go by.

    Some future day they’ll flee this nest, and I, at last, will have a rest.

    And which really matters more? A happy child or a polished floor?
    Author Unknown

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