Last week I declared it: sleep week. I was going to be in bed by 9:00 PM each night to catch up on all the zzzzzzzzs I’d missed recently.
Did that happen?
Yes, once. And I was all like: woah … I am well-rested.
The other nights? The last month?
The flu. A book newsletter. Babies. The election. Babies. Harvest. Strange accidentally set alarm clocks at 4:37 AM.
The night of the election, I was in bed by ten … one hour past my oddly-set goal.
At 1:15 or so J.D. randomly cried out for a moment, only enough to wake my mom ears. Then, I saw Hillary’s guy tell everyone to go home.
At 2:00 J.D. cried out more loudly and began waking sissy. Daddy returned the pacifier and rocked him while I watched the acceptance speech live.
What an election hangover I still have, up from 1 to 3!
All of the above randomness of recent is adding up to surprising sleep deprivation so late in the game of these newborn days.
He’s sleeping pretty good. Great even.
What is happening? I’m still so tired.
I need a sleep log or something by my bedside table.
I swear every night it’s a new and totally random reason.
I want to tell you a different story besides the dull, worn out song: I’m such a tired mom.
But, that’s all I’ve got.
I’m tired. I’m a mom. It’s November. (I think.)
I’m still making coffee.
Lord, I need a new song. Bring on winter. Bring on sleep week.
Let’s stay home. Let’s hibernate.