Sleep deprivation is a funny thing. At least, I remember when it was a fun thing back in college. These days I’m starting to see why it’s used as a horrific type of torture.
Diva, Bruiser and Hubby all have colds. Uncle M and I are resigned to the fact that our turn is next. Thankfully Hubby is very rarely ill and has never been one to suffer Man Flu. I, however, challenge any man to suffer Man Flu as spectatularly as I do (but I’ll save those stories for another post). Hubby has therefore been helping a great deal to look after the children.
Diva is waking up constantly through the night complaining that her nose doesn’t work and Bruiser barely sleeps at all between coughing and demanding food to help clear his nose. Hubby has taken to the spare room so that he can look after Diva while I sleep in our room with Bruiser.
Each night we shake hands and wish each other good luck.
Each morning we stare at each other, bleary eyed, and mumble incoherent information about the proceeding day.
Each day we take on a more pallid complexion and become even more incapable of coherent speech.
Now let’s try that comparison to life in college.
In college I would stay up all night having long discussions about incredibly important topics like, which character in Friends am I most like.
Now I stay up all night discussing the merits of sleep with a five month old baby.
In college I would spend all night drinking and partying.
Now I really need a drink but hardly ever have any in the house (a fact that really needs to be remedied).
In college I rarely stopped dancing all night.
Now I’m scared to even breathe in case I wake the children.
In college I would catch up on sleep in a particularly boring lecture or whilst watching a bit of day time TV.
Now I accidentally fall asleep during riveting games where all of Diva’s animals say, “Hello”, to each other.
In college I’d get up, slap on some make up and do it all again.
Now I do the same only minus the make up.
However, not everything is different. I still find myself cleaning up other people’s sick and often have to comfort a sobbing girl who really isn’t sure what she’s crying about.
At least, for now, my kids are too young to share any of the embarrassing stories about how I sang Twinkle Twinkle out of key; or the time I was so out of it, I missed my mouth whilst having a drink; or when I wore my pyjamas inside out, and knew it.
Hmmm…I better take some more embarrassing pictures of them just in case.