It has been 100 days since I’ve slept. 100 days since my head hit the pillow and no one awoke me by crying. 100 days since I could fall asleep knowing that I will wake up feeling alive and rejuvenated.
It’s all worth it, believe me. My baby needs me every night, and I’ll get up each and every time he needs me until he decides that sleep is better than waking me up. But seriously, a good night’s sleep is NOT overrated. The things it does for your brain are immeasurable. Half the time I forget how to talk. The pauses in my speech are often longer than the actual sentence I’m trying to phrase. There have been keys locked in the car, empty dryers running, oh, and this.
Most of the time I’m laughing at myself for the pure insanity of it all. But sometimes I wonder what could I get done if I just had one good night’s sleep? If my brain was functioning at even just half capacity? If when my eyes closed at night I could make it, say, 5 hours with no interruptions? Perhaps those two degrees I had would shine through. Perhaps I’d get double the work done, double the
non-existent cleaning, double the meaningful conversations that didn’t include something about poop or Curious George.
As I woke up four (yes FOUR) times last night, my 100th night with Lucas, to comfort and feed my little boy, I did what I do every night, prayed to God that it would end soon, begged the Sand Man to influence the sleeping habits in my house, and shed a couple tears about just.how.tired I really am. But then when I woke up, groggy and sore, sun coming through the window, I knew I’ll be doing it all again the next night, and probably many nights after that. With no end in sight I have no regrets when I come out of my room to see that adorable little face.
But seriously dude, could you give me one night?