This morning, Isobel woke up around 3am to come and cuddle in my bed. She became a cuddler about a week ago – which I love, because she’s never been one of those. And because I want her to stop sleeping in the crib – and sleeping in my bed in the small hours of the morning is the only time she’s willing to not be surrounded by bars.
It would have been fine, if I’d had the whole bed to myself initially. Instead, we were squished up and maybe that and the osmotic-effect of today being Christmas meant she was awake at 4. Then by 5:30 was Up up. I swear, I haven’t slept in three years, if ever.
A combination of insomnia, sleep apnea, sleep walking, pregnancy, colic and being a tad bipolar (in addition to allergies) have all lead to a definite need for concealer on a daily basis over the past 16 years. The bags under my eyes got in a bar fight, you know?
Once she was born, after years of having manic episodes wherein not sleeping for a couple of days was normal, I got knocked on my ass from the tweaked-out pedestal known as sleep deprivation pwning. Isobel didn’t sleep. For months. Then, once she did sleep, it was for a completely unpredictable amount of time. Then once it was predictable, I took on more tasks and responsibilities, bookkeeping clients and writing jobs.
And I became a single parent. Not that that changed many things.
Things lagged, I perpetually played catch up, I lost the ability to get anything dealt with for the future because I was always getting the bare minimum done for the day – and the days that’d already passed. And this was a perfect excuse to sleep less.
In the past two years, I’ve slept anywhere from not one extra long blink to five hours a night. More than that, maybe twice. Once was after my fourth transfusion last spring, when MrLady was in possession of my princess.
Do you know what this does? Makes it hard to think straight. Creates a cycle of needing coffee, then being kept awake from too much caffeine. I rely on sugar to give me energy (cuz we’ve already read about my shitty diet habits, right?) and to stay awake between noon and just after Isobel’s bedtime. Then I get another wind – leaving me up until easily 2am, if not later.
The irony is that I’m working less, getting less done, being less efficient and well, more stupider.
It is so proper syntax.
So. Resolution #4: Get some fucking rest, already.
Cuz I need to be able to set wheels in motion, and I’ve got big projects in the works and an even bigger personal need to kick ass with them. Cuz sometimes, Isobel could run up to me while I’m chatting with someone on google chat and I won’t understand the words coming out of her mouth, because ADD and being a zombie (not literally! Put away the flames, stakes and baseball bats, please) have created a severe problem with simple comprehension.
More importantly, I’m going to get some rest because I’m damn tired. Plus, it’d be pretty nice to remember a dream every once in a while, that didn’t have anything to do with someone dying the next day.
