Tired

Petra is 6 years and two months old. So it’s been that long, and more (I didn’t get a lot of sleep at the end of the pregnancy either) since I’ve had a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep. Petra wasn’t a very restful baby – she liked to stay up until 4am and sleep until lunch time. Travis got up at 7am most mornings, waking me in the process. So I spent most of Petra’s first year existing on way less than five hours sleep in any 24 hour period. It was brutal.

Things improved of course as Petra got older, but she didn’t start sleeping through the night until she was almost two. And she got up much earlier than I approved of for years after that. 5am starts are not my thing. I’m a night owl, not an early bird.

She also preferred to sleep with us until just recently. And three in the bed means no blankets, or too many blankets, feet jabbed against your ribs, and arms and heads banged against your face. The snuggles and the love are absolutely worth all the pain, but relaxing it wasn’t. And, even though she’s in her own room, Petra still comes in every morning to wake me up. I do my best to dispense hugs and good cheer, but oh! I miss going to bed when I want and waking up when I’ve finished sleeping.

These days I’m so chronically tired that I don’t even know how to be anything else. So tired that I can’t remember things – the names of books, and people, and the particular pasta I want to buy, just slide right out of my head. I have to relax and wait for them to slide back in. So far they do, sooner or later. I keep urging myself to go to bed earlier, but when I do, I lie there awake until my usual late time. Parental insomnia – it’s a real thing.

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