SLEEP DEPRIVED CHAMPION = GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS

  I am a sleep deprived, twenty-nine year old mom with a fussy 3 1/2 month old, teething little boy who wants to revert back to his newborn days, violently waking every one and half to two hours a night. Do you understand what I am trying to say here? I am one tired ass heifer!

I’m telling you, that this lack of sleep causes me to function improperly in the morning, afternoon and evening; time of day doesn’t matter. I am one who enjoys sleep to the nth degree and have the ability to sleep anywhere. Whether it’s in a stiff, cheap, non-ergonomic chair at work, on a cold concrete slab or curled up in the cramped backseat of a 2-door during  lunch hour. I love a good nap so much, that I refuse to answer the phone when it rings for fear of being disturbed out of my glorious and much needed slumber. Don’t believe it? Ask my mom, she knows I won’t even answer her calls during a nap.

What sucks about being awakened every two hours, is the fact that everyone else in the house is in a cozy, comatose-like nirvana, while mommy has to schlep down the dark, eerie -ass hall, staggering  and stumbling into walls in a drunken stupor like an alcoholic trying to recover from an all night whiskey binge. When I reach my son’s room, which seems 300 feet away from our room, I proceed to lift him from the crib and transfer him to the changing table to remove a pee-soaked diaper, all while he is wailing, but obviously not loud enough to wake the other two members of the house from their sleep-induced comas.

   Once he has been changed, I sit in the semi-plush glider and “boob” him, as my husband and I like to call it. Now, because it’s three o’clock in the morning and my eyes are at half mast, my brain malfunctioning, I often see things that are not there. I hallucinate, if you will. The bathroom is across the hall and as I rock back and forth in this glider, I swear I see a monkey near the sink, laughing at my delirious ass. Looking to my right, I see a sizzling baked potato, drenched in butter and sour cream, just sitting there, on the side table waiting to be eaten. WTF?! I’m not high, so I know my body must be craving a solid night’s rest, so I shake my head like I was a wet dog trying to dry off and shut my already half mast eyelids in mid-yawn, just in the nick of time before seeing a group of corn on the cob doing the  conga. 

Finally, after a decent feeding, back to bed he goes, slipping into an instant gratifying slumber as he coos preciously. For a brief moment, I feel a tinge of jealousy. What I wouldn’t give to have someone urgently respond to my every beck and call. What I wouldn’t give for a pleasurable snooze, swaddled in a soft knitted blanket hand-made by Mimi.  Oh wait, I’m a grown-ass adult who has to make the long trek back to my room in the damn dark, hoping to find immediate sleep when my head hits the pillow.

Oh no! What the hell! Why the frick is my bladder doing this to me now? I just want to sleep and my got-dang bladder feels like a fat juicy, ripe pimple that will burst with the slightest touch. Do I get up and try to find my way to the toilet to empty my, filled to maximum capacity bladder in order to feel some sort of relief? Hmmm…Screw it!  I’d rather lay in bed and piss myself. Gotta sacrifice my bladder and clean sheets in order to find my way to dreamland.

I hear a melody, a sweet tune humming in my ear. Yes! I have arrived to that much awaited nirvana known as sleep. So this is what it’s like, huh? Wait a minute, why is that tune becoming irritatingly louder? Son of a banche! It’s my alarm. I should chuck the damn thing across the room; it’s only been an hour and half since I climbed into bed! The only thought running through my head is, “I love my son to death, but I can’t wait for the day when he grows out of this waking every two hours phase and sleeps through the night because my tired ass is going to pull my hair out from sleep deprivation”.

As I get ready for my long, mind-numbing day with the most stiff and starched, anal individuals you could imagine, my husband turns to me, looks at my worn out, heavily bagged eyes and asks me, “When’s the last time you got a good night of rest?”

I think about this question as hard as I possibly can, being in the state I’m in. I gaze at him and what appears to be his twin (I’m seeing double; another hallucination), and bluntly reply, “I would have to say, sometime in 2007”.

The best sleep I have gotten was pre-pregnancy, well before having 2 kids so close together in age.  Ever notice how some women look much older than their significant others, when they are in fact the same age? I’ve clued you in as to why that is. Years and years of an effin’ lack of sleep, man!

So, if you see me, please excuse me for my ashen face, disheveled hair and bags large enough to have to check in and pay for on a Southwest flight. So much for being the hot M.I.L.F I strive to be…