Motherhood. A beautiful thing. Precious children entrusted to our care. Tiny, helpless, needy beings totally reliant on us to protect, feed, nurture and change them. To cradle them and raise them with love and compassion and the swelling pride of parenthood. If ONLY they knew how much better we could do OUR part if they would do their part. And by that, I mean sleep.
Remember me saying how great Miss Q was as a sleeper? Because she was. Notice the past tense of that phrase. Anyone who has seen my drooling baby knows we are in the midst of teething. Throw that in with a cold and shocking moments of unexpected gas eruptions, and Oh yeah!, an aching jaw on my part, and you have the most atrocious scenario for me last night. We were up many many MANY times, and of course, Miss O decided that she needed to come sleep in our room (we don't let them get into bed with us, but we do let them sleep on the floor next to the bed--Super J creates a little bed palette next to ours. We aren't *that* mean. Though, Super J figures if they'll sleep next to the laundry hamper and his shoes, they must really want to be in the room with us. ANYWAY! I digress).
When I "woke" up for the morning, ...well..., let's just say I was NOT Miss Merry Sunshine. Once again, for a brief moment, I felt like a failure of a mother as I snapped at my kids who couldn't understand my half mumbles and incoherent commands and psychic utterances. How could they??? Because who honestly can speak Sleep Deprivation? Super J has gotten pretty good over the years, but still, it's something that you really don't want to have to hone. And I don't want to have to keep practicing it, that's for sure.
So, I bring all this up because once again I was out driving (ack! They should have a warning you can put on cars for moms with new babies, something like: Please don't honk! I'm driving under deprivation of nocturnal bliss), unshowered, in a faded t-shirt, anklet socks and off brand Kroc's, wearing my well-worn blue hoody jacket which is currently sporting some spit-up stains and dried snot (did I mention Miss Q has a cold?), and not caring as Misses O and Q and I went to Wal-Mart. Because can I just say NO ONE is at Wal-Mart shopping at 8:45 in the morning...except the Elderly, who seem especially spry at that hour which makes me kinda bitter, but they look with knowing empathy at me with my offspring in the cart, so I don't feel so bad that I didn't even brush my hair (...unless you count me running my hand through it. If you do, then yes, I did brush my hair). And I thought to myself: I have come to this.
Almost seven years of lack of sleep and I am not only totally willing to, but I embrace, going out of my house looking like this simply because I am too tired to care! And what's scary is that I know I haven't hit bottom yet because I still put a bra on before I went out. But Gentle Reader, it crossed my mind. Indeed it did.
I'm looking forward to reclaiming myself, or at least attempting to, at some point in the future. Super J keeps telling me that when Miss Q is 18 months old, I won't recognize myself. I believe him. I have to. Because I can only go up from here.
I can hardly wait for nap time.