Sleep-Deprived Rhino

[Fair warning.  It'll seem like I'm complaining a lot in this post.  It's because I am.]

 

 

 

That's me on little sleep.

 

This is with heavy-duty concealer under my eyes.

Like most adults, I'm sleep deprived.  However, I've been very, VERY sleep deprived for over a year.  The last six months of my pregnancy, I woke up throughout the night, each night, to charlie horses.  Don't know what those are?  Imagine waking up to the tips of your toes curling back in the wrong direction, your entire shin taunt and cramping.  (Or thighs.  Or calves.)  The only thing that make it stop is jumping out of bed and stretching various ways to release the muscle spasms.  The last three month of pregnancy, in particular, it would happen at least hourly all night long.  They are pretty hellish, but they stop the very day I deliver.

 

But then, of course, we have a newborn.  And newborns don't "sleep like a baby."

 

 

My kids have never been good sleepers.  I am now prepared for this and can deal with knowing my babies won't sleep through the night until 9 or 10 months in.  But what is grossly unfair is that while I am getting up with a baby three or more times a night, we still have our two older kids who have to repeatedly be sleep-trained.  Please tell me we aren't the only ones!

All things considered, I haven't had more than three-four hours of consecutive sleep in at least a year.

 

I have a very good husband, and we made the deal that I would get up with the baby (who breastfeeds) and Brad would get up with the older two (who share a room).  

 

The trouble is, the older two wake me up anyway.  The second I hear so much as a whimper in their sleep, my eyes snap open.  Even if my husband gets to the kids right away, I'm lying wide awake in my bed listening to everything that's happening.  No matter who gets up, my brain decides to stay awake for a while.

 

The last two weeks, Baby D finally started waking up only once or twice a night.  So of course, I had insomnia for two weeks straight and didn't go to bed until 2-3 AM.  My theory is my brain only has time to think when it's time for sleeping.  

 

It was Friday, the tail end of that two-week bout of not going to bed until 2 or 3.  I finally got to bed at a reasonable hour, falling asleep around midnight without too much insomnia to speak of (yay!).  12:30 AM, and I heard my daughter coughing off and on.  I went in to her room to get her some water and settled her back down.  

 

Just as I got comfy back in bed, I heard the baby.  He had been sick the night before (up from 3-4:30, struggling to breathe--WHY DO GERMS EXIST?!) and I wanted to ensure he was doing better.  I nursed him and he went back to sleep easily.  I crawled back in bed, my thoughts drifting between dreamland and reality. 

 

My eyes snap open! 1:30 AM. 4-year old coughing again.  Another water routine.  Back to bed.

 

1:45 AM. 2-year old crying.  It was the "nightmare cry," so I ran in, trying to get to him before he woke up his sister sleeping above him in the bunk bed.  He took a bit of reassuring, water, and a song, but he went back down.  My mind began to drift again.

 

2:15 AM. 4-year old was coughing again.  Water and some cough medicine delivered. 

 

2:30 AM.  4-year old, "I want to go to the bathroom!  I want to go to the bathroom!"  (Yeah, she still wears a diaper at night.)  This time, I poked Brad who moved in slow motion, still in such a deep sleep that he couldn't quite get his head up off the pillow and he spoke intelligibly.  I bolted down the hall, praying the 2-year old still kept sleeping.  My daughter couldn't be convinced to just go potty in her diaper, but my poor judgment won out and I refused to haul her out of bed.  Instead I went back down the hall to the baby who was now up from me thumping down the hallway.

 

2:45 AM.  I was feeding the baby, CJ was crying hysterically down the hall, and R was now up too.  Brad's shadow appeared in the doorway.  "Oh, I thought you were in there!  Sorry."  I practically shrieked back, "I've already been in there four or five times!  I can't do this anymore.  I can't!"  The poor guy could see the fire in my eyes, hear the near-hysterical voice.  He quickly got CJ to the bathroom right away.  Then the 2-year old also wanted to use the bathroom.  (Yeah, he's not potty trained.)   But Brad helped him do it anyway while I finished up with the baby and got back in bed, fuming.

 

3:00 AM.  I was the raging rhino.  Instead of sleeping, different scenarios were flying through my mind, some of which included:

 

 * Going into the kitchen and smashing every plate we own as hard as I could against the floor.

 * Taking the three loads of laundry Brad had folded the night before.  Turning them all upside down and pitching the clothes all over the family room.

 * Running out into the night and screaming all over my neighborhood.

 

3:30 AM.  I am still seriously considering all these scenarios and more, when I heard the 4-year old again asking to go to the bathroom.  I had a Mommy-tantrum all down the hallway, and whisper-yelled, "GO IN YOUR DIAPER!" followed by a thunderous stomp back to bed.  Yes, it was unsuccessful.   Brad knew I was then about a chin-hair away from a legitimate nervous breakdown, so he again went back in to handle CJ.  And then R.

 

3:45 AM.  I was still quivering with anger in my bed, muttering under my breath.  My head was pounding so when Brad returned, I asked him to grab me some medicine.

 

4:15 AM.  Baby D was up again, this time he clearly was not breathing quite well enough.  I brought him to our bed and propped him up on my pillow, so he could breathe better.  I also positioned myself right next to his face so I could feel his every breath, because I was officially a crazy person and convinced he would die in his sleep otherwise.  

 

4:30-5:00 AM.  Baby D repeatedly patted my face and unintentionally scratched me over and over again.  I halfway loved it and was still over-my-head upset that I was not sleeping yet.  I turn off my alarm set for a 6 AM gym workout.

 

8:00 AM.  We woke up to the sounds of our kids stirring in the next room.  It was a miracle!  Three solid hours under my belt!  I felt like a different person.  I turned to Brad, marveling that the kids didn't wake up at their usual 7:15 to their light-up clock.  Brad admitted he had taken the clock out of the room during his last visit.  I had never loved him more.

 

Later that morning, I sheepishly apologized, "Sorry I almost had a nervous breakdown last night!"  Brad responded that he was just happy I hadn't "Zach Braffed it."  In response to my quizzical stare, Brad showed me this video, and we laughed for almost five minutes: