Monday, 11 February 2013

Warning: Do Not Leave Child Unattended...

I can't think straight.  For one who used to be able to do complex math, just in my head, I can't even wrap my brain around what time it is.   The only numbers I can vaguely understand are number 1 and number 2.  So much number 2.  I have no idea why there is a bottle of olive oil in the fridge and why the milk is in the pantry.  It's 1:30 in the afternoon and I've yet to summon the courage to look at myself in a mirror, let alone get out of my pyjama's.  I use the term pyjama's loosely because if I'm not mistaken, I have been in the same black yoga pants and breast-milk-stained tank top for 29 hours but then again, my math could be wrong.  My brunch was a semi-warm cup of coffee (that I didn't have the patience to wait one full minute for the microwave to heat) and a peanut butter sandwich.  My vision seems blurry, but wait, my glasses are on -- ah dammit, what did I just step on?  *squeak* No worries, it just Sophie Le Expensive Dog Toy.  Sadly I'm not hungover (because that would mean I actually got out of the house and had the courage to pump and dump, which I cannot because that stuff is literally liquid gold).  I'm sleep deprived.

Bouncy Bouncy!
I stare at my baby, with that comatose like stare where you can't look away or merely blink because that would take far too much energy.  I don't understand where he is getting his endurance from as he bounces vigorously in his jumper.  I have been awake and asleep for just as long as he has.  Yet, I'm dead from the ass up and he's like "Carpe diem Mom!".  Lack of sleep is a horrible, horrible, horrible thing.  I now fully understand why it's listed in the Geneva Conventions.

I vaguely remember a time long long ago when I would have to set an alarm to wake up in the morning.  The need to hit the snooze button was overwhelming because, at the time, 7:15 was an ungodly time to wake up.  I have a faint recollection of thinking I felt tired.  Seven. Bloody. Fifteen.   Now, waking up at 7:15 sounds like a freaking vacation (... pass the mojitos, which way to the beach?)  If I could go back in time I would back hand my past-self and then take a long nap before coming back to the land of no sleep where the need for an alarm clock is unnecessary because I went and grew one for myself.

It's brilliant really, this brand-spanking new alarm clock.  It's so efficient that I can even keep it in a separate room and it will still wake me up.  However, lately it's started to malfunction. It seems to keep going off through out the middle of the night, even though I set it for 6:30 am.  It's odd, because it used to work well and now after having it for 6 months it has been going off at 11:30pm, 2:13am, 3:57am, 6:17am and finally at 7:02am.  In fact, its gotten so faulty that the precise minute I get back into bed, get back under the warm covers, settle my head into the pillow and scrunch into a pseudo fetal position, exhale in exhausted excitement at the prospect of sleep -- the alarm will go off, ah-gain.  I've been trying to find my receipt to see if there is a warranty on it so I can take it back and to get it fixed -- but I must have accidentally thrown it out ( probably was in the same bag as my sanity).
Lucky for me, my new alarm has awesome 'wake-up' features that ensure I'll never over sleep again.  Each has a variety of sound choices (...that I keep on 'shuffle' just to keep it interesting) that escalate in volume if I take too long to go shut it off and it even still came with a snooze button.  When the alarm initially goes off, I'm definitely guilty for hitting snooze ('s located on the 'power' button on the high tech video monitor accessory).  But no worries about sleeping in, there's a fool-poof back-up second alarm that goes off 7 minutes after you hit the snooze button.  That's right, I splurged and made sure that I have two alarm clocks (...both have life-time guarantees of disrupting my sleep).  I keep that fancy second one right next to me in bed.  It's a larger version, very aesthetically pleasing, easy to hold, and it only goes off when the first alarm gets too loud.  The problem with the second alarm is it only has one sound option that is downright aggravating to listen to.  The very instant it goes off, your mood instantly sours while you envision kicking it in the shins it as you drag your ass out of the bed for the fifth time in the last three hours. Without fail, the minute you've mustered the last ounce of your energy to get out of bed, the second alarm promptly rolls over and shuts off for the rest of the night (or until you hit the snooze button again).   I wonder what that feels like...

Ah, a homemade
body pillow for
everyones favourite

After weeks of broken sleep (if you can call it that) -- you start to think some crazy things.  During the wee hours of the morning, my mood is especially vile.  I cradle my son, as he sucks his thumb just loud enough to let me know if I put him down there will be hell to pay, while plotting brilliantly evil schemes.  (My complete and utter loathing for having to be awake while so tired has to be channelled somewhere.)  Like the perfect revenge for that special someone from work that I can't stand especially at 3:37 am.  I plot how next year I could start a secret Santa gift giving event... that I fix... so I get their name.  Then... I save a weeks worth of diapers in my diaper genie bag after having fed my babe prunes and only prunes every single day.  Next, I sew a beautiful, comfy fleece pillow case (...maybe I'll even embroider it with his initials) for the awesome new "body pillow" I got him.  If all goes according to plan,  he will love and enjoy it for at least one night of sleep before discovering what was so secret about Santa's gift.  Teach him to call me stupid while pregnant.  Yes, the reason you're 42 and single has everything to do with not being able to find the perfect girl (...or guy? Not that there's anything wrong with that...) that has the same intellect as you. There's an apparent shortage of single people with below-average intelligence these days, it's been all over the news.  It obviously has nothing to do with your charming personality and how you treat others (...seriously, who makes fun of a pregnant woman...).  But I digress...

"I'm sure this works well", said no one ever.
It is now morning, if you can call it that.  It is still dark out, I'm flipping channels between informercials for P90X and the No!No! hair removal system, and the only houses with lights on are the ones with in the same boat as me.  Ok, here you go kiddo, time to crawl around on the floor and start to burn some of that pent up energy.  Let's quickly run through my responsible parent checklist: Baby gate closed.  Check.  Doors to the bathroom and bedrooms closed.  Check.  Alright, I'm just going to lie down on this couch and watch the weather network remind me how icicles are made for the 17th time and supervise you while you army crawl like a wounded soilder around the carpet.  I'm just going to close my eyes for one minu...   

You know how you're not supposed to leave your child unattended?  That's pretty bad parenting right?  Would you leave your child to crawl around your house while you ran out to the store?  It'll only be 45 minutes.  Yep, that's what I basically did. Give the audience a prize.  You guessed it, I'm awesome and I totally fell asleep.  Imagine the huge rock of guilt I felt picturing the horrendous scenarios that could have happened to my little baby coupled with feeling of resignation that at least I got some rest I so desperately needed.  Great now I feel more guilty for being happy about getting some sleep.  Who has two thumbs and was just presented the mother of the year award?  This girl.  (Don't all of you call Child Protective Services at once, you'll crash the phone lines.)  In the end, my child was found by my husband, playing in the kitchen by the knifes, dynamite, and rat poison.  Just joking.  Obviously my house is baby proof, but sleep proof my couch definitely is not.  Note to self:  Must. Make. Coffee. Earlier.  

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