Mommy Needs a Nap
Okay, where were you guys with all the common sense about, oh, nine months ago? Why weren't you beating down my door with condoms in hand and mailing me coupons for birth control pills and sticking IUD pamphlets under my windshield wipers? "No, Rita!" you should have screamed. "You've just lost ninety pounds from your last pregnancy! Enjoy being a relatively normal weight for a few months!" And if that didn't work, you should have said, "You'll have two kids in diapers! TWO KIDS IN DIAPERS, Rita! Just think of the volume of poop!"
Or there's always, "Stretchmarks, Rita! You can get stretchmarks on top of stretchmarks!"
If you couldn't tell, I'm getting a little case of cold feet when it comes to becoming a mother of three. Because you know what? Three kids, while certainly not a reality-show-worthy amount like the Gosselin or Duggar broods, is still a whole hell of a lot of children. (Well, to me it is anyway ... especially when they're all 4 and under.) Obviously I don't regret our third little man - I'm already madly in love with him and can't wait to meet him next month - but I'm starting to get scared.
It's all because I had a sleepless night last night. And I realized how much I have taken my sleep for granted lately. And I realized how, in just one short month, sleepless nights will be the norm.
Since Curtis's schedule changed a few days ago, I've had a horrible case of insomnia. He gets off at 2 AM, and I've been awake to meet him a couple times. Even going to bed "early" has been 12:30 or 1 AM for me lately ... which sucks because, as you guys know, I have children who insist on rising with the sun. Whether I'm exhausted or not.
Here's last night's schedule:
1:45 - I finally go to bed.
2:15 - I wake up when Curtis gets home, say hi to him, and go pee.
3:00 - Colin wakes up calling for his "stinky stinky ball." (Some kids sleep with teddy bears, mine sleeps with disgusting tire-shop-scented racquetballs. Go figure.) I locate it for him, then figure I'd better pee again before I go back to bed.
3:20 - Have just dozed off again when Colin yells, "I need to pee!" (.... Uh, son? You're four years old. You've been potty trained for two years now. You have your own bathroom. No need to announce it; just go.) Why does he ask my permission to go pee in the middle of the night - as if he ever asks for permission for anything else - ever??
4:30 - The baby has decided that my bladder makes a comfy pillow, and now I have to pee. Again. Damn it.
5:00 - Cameron wakes up screaming for "Milk milk miiiiiiiilllk!" It takes me forever to locate a sippy cup, by which time he has screamed himself into a babbling wakefulness.
5:45 - After nearly an hour of soothing and "shh"-ing, Cameron falls back to sleep, and so do I.
6:15 - Colin bursts in shouting, "Good morning! It's wake-up time!" He seems so refreshed. I want to smack him. I manage to hold him off in five- or ten-minute intervals by suggesting things he can do (quietly, by himself), but like some sort of fungus, he just keeps coming back - and soon starts requesting breakfast. (What do I look like, his mother or something?)
Needless to say, I was tired when I got out of bed this morning - so much that I actually felt hung over. Ick. I realized that pretty soon, I'll most likely be feeling this way on a regular basis. How on earth will I function?
(I mean, not that I'm so high-functioning normally, but ... you know.)