Nobody sleeps here. I mean, I knew this already, but last night it has suddenly become clear to me that we’re just not sleeping. We might as well not even try. Zuzu woke up a bunch of times, and every time I went in there, one or both boys would say something in a very-much-awake voice. Henry would be sitting up and saying, “Mom, we read a book about a gingerbread man where…” and then I angrily shush him, which probably isn’t helpful. I finally crawled into bed with the boys and they spent the night chatting amiably and diddling my belly fat with their feet (thanks for that, boys) (thanks also to Eli who has started to refer to me as “The Mother Elephant” though I think this is a reference to the Babar books we’ve been reading lately and not a reference to maternal girth). I used to sort of think that they slept at night, if fitfully, and Dave and I were the ones who were fully awake. Now I’m thinking that we’re all just fully awake, all night long. I mean really are we seriously not paying enough attention to them during the day that they need to stay up all night in case we wander by?
Ugh, and the wandering. During the night both boys might get up and walk around from bedroom to bedroom, trying to find another warm body. Which just makes Dave and I wander around also, and so at any point you might find four of us casually milling about in the hallway, like it’s noon and we’re deciding between soup or sandwiches.
I am at a total loss here. This is about five-and-a-half years of not sleeping. I used to be such a morning person, and now I am just not. I am one of those “five more minutes” people who’s all grumbly in the morning and can barely stumble downstairs to her warm cup of coffee (decaf! the injustice!). Every morning when I put in my contacts I look in the mirror and am just horrified by my reflection.
I honestly feel like we’ve tried every single solution. Henry sleeps the best (closely followed by Zuzu), but he didn’t sleep through the night until he turned four. Sleepless in America made the biggest difference for us, but here we are, exhausted and bickering and wandering and sleep stupid and I just eat chocolate all day and that makes the biggest difference besides Sleepless in America but it doesn’t actually help anyone sleep more and doesn’t help to reduce my foot-diddleable paunch.
The only things I haven’t tried: giving the kids brandy, saying, “You must sleep now!” and locking them in their rooms, and beating them.
How does this affect our days? Besides the fact that I seem to be stealing beauty tips directly from Lady Elaine Fairchild, essentially it makes us insane. I was just shoveling snow with Eli, and I got so annoyed at him wanting to switch shoveling implements every twelve seconds that I angrily threw my shovel to the ground while cursing under my breath like Popeye. Which is perhaps a bit of an overreaction. (In my defense, however, he kept wanting to trade me a teaspoon-size kid shovel for my legitimate snow shovel, or he’d announce, “Switch!” and would have nothing at all to trade.) And I just called my mom and told her not to come for Christmas (Julie = horrible daughter) because I just can’t deal with another human being in the house.
And I find that I’m unable to come up with a satisfactory conclusion to this post because I’m too tired. So there.