I am nothing without sleep.
That is not technically true. What I should say is that I am nothing remotely positive or likable without sleep. Instead I am short-tempered and globally hopeless and generally not a pleasure to be around. The most concrete lesson I have learned as a parent is that I need sleep. Desperately.
Not five hours, not six and a half. I need at least seven good hours and if I can get eight, I’m a star.
Before Yogi was born I had spent 21 of my 33 years as a student. For pretty much all of the years that such a thing was legal, I was also holding down a job. I mention this to establish that I’m well acquainted with the all-nighter. I made my way through high school, college and a doctoral program by burning lots of midnight oil.
The difference between being a student and being a parent?
Yogi gets up at 6.
He’s awake and eager for milk and if you try to talk him into snuggling with you just a little bit longer he will just honk your nose until you give in and force yourself to your feet. And once he’s up, he’s UP. There is no sitting down or taking it easy or even a whole lot of using your inside voice.
The day begins and you’re on the clock until bedtime. Sure, there’s nap and if the painters agree to turn down their music then maybe he will even sleep. But the only time you have to take care of everything else that needs to be taken care of is when Yogi is asleep. And if you don’t do it now, you just have to do it later. And later is guaranteed to be after bedtime and by that time you barely have the will to live.
Dramatic? Yes. True? Also yes.
We have one more week of Yogi sleeping/entertaining himself in our room and random people in and out of our house and flies the size of your fist everywhere bc apparently some people don’t know how to shut a door and hopefully I will survive it. At the moment, the jury is out.