I love to sleep. Love, love, love it! Sleeping whenever and for however long I want is one of the few things I miss about life before the monsters. J loves and values his sleep soooo much more than he will let on. Don’t let him tell you, for one second, that he is fine getting woken up when he has the chance to sleep. He’s lying—a big, fat lie.
We actually had a little bet going a few years back, and the prize was sleeping in, both days of the weekend, for a month. He laughed and teased me a bit because I was taking it so seriously. I had my eyes on the prize…and it was valuable! Needless to say, I won the bet, but never collected. Mr. Sleep is overrated; we both get plenty of it. Who cares if I get up with them both days?’ decided that he was not willing to pay up. “But, I need my day to sleep, too.” Oh really? But, I thought it wasn’t a big deal?
Early on, shortly after M was born, we settled on an excellent system for the weekends. On Friday, I would put her to bed, get up with her anytime during the night, and wake up with her in the morning. J would do the same on Saturday night through Sunday morning. This way, we were both ensured one great night of uninterrupted sleep each week. It may not sound like much, but I look forward to it all week…We still do it now, though the girls don’t really wake at night much (and M comes to me whenever she does, but that’s another story.)
However, over the weeks and months, my’ sleep-in’ privileges have slowly morphed from sleeping as late as I want, to simply not changing A’s diaper or making breakfast. I’m still woken, and I can’t go back to sleep. “Where are A’s diapers?” Same place as always (the same goes for diaper cream, wipes, medicine, etc. I never move it. Ever.) “Are the clothes in the hamper clean?” Just assume no. “Do you want me to get you coffee?” What do you think? “I just got back with coffee and breakfast” I will eat and drink it cold, thank you. “The girls want to say ‘hi.’” Well, I don’t feel the same way.
Do you get the idea?
Now, let me stress. On Saturday mornings, I walk around our house like a mouse. The girls don’t play full games or yell. I feel bad going into the bedroom to get shoes to run out for coffee. I avoid waking him at all costs. He can sleep until ten or later; he did that this weekend! We woke him while outside talking to our neighbor at 11:20 – and I felt terrible! He says he feels guilty about sleeping so late, but I don’t recall ever hearing an alarm clock up there. That’s beside the point anyway. I don’t care how long he sleeps! It’s his day. It’s not up to me. I tell him that over and over, hoping he translates that into “It’s her day …it’s not up to the girls what time she gets up or me.” I guess I should be flattered that everyone wants me up to be with them, but I’m not. At all.
But, me? I can’t sleep. Someone suggested recently that maybe I’m just not capable of it anymore. Garbage! I can think of three good reasons why I can’t sleep, and you can bet one or more of them are making noise in my room every Sunday morning!
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