I’m tired. This is a thing that happens, occasionally. That one time I decided to have three children seems to be the primary instigator of said tiredness. My full on study-load isn’t helping, and getting towards the business end of our wedding plans seems to be the serotonin stealing cherry on top of this up-side down cake.
Really, I was lulled into an unfair, false sense of security. For the last three months our beautiful baby fox has been a solid, seven-hour- straight, dream baby night sleeper. After spending the first few weeks slightly puzzled; waking up multiple times each night to do the old pinkie under nose breathing check, I got fairly comfortable with this idea of a full night sleep, obviously too comfortable.
The last few nights have pretty much caused a stop work meeting in my brain, while it holds a fairly unproductive protest and eats lots of replacement carbs… Mmm carbs.
In some countries, sleep deprivation is a form of deathly torture; pushing victims down a slippery slope, and eventually hurtling them into insanity. Ask any uni student who’s ever fallen asleep in their Mi Goreng, or any new mother shuffling from side to side, humming lullabies to the grocery shelves; being tired sucks. It hurts, it clouds your vision and it makes you do weird things.
I recently watched a friend absent minded-ly crush her food into small balls between her fingers and examine each piece, like a kid deciding which ball of play dough to eat first. Did I say friend? I meant me. I would’ve been weirded out by my behaviour if I hadn’t already made two trips to Woolies that day for milk, forgetting it twice. But worst of all, being tired can steal the creativity out from under your socks. And that’s pretty much where I’m at now. With assignments building up, I have little to no inclination to get started, at least until the day before they’re due.
My recent epic struggle to keep my eyes open and continue working till two am, whilst wrapped around whichever infant is taking up four times more bed space than you’d feel physically possible, has hit me like a bus hitting a sleep walking zombie in her pyjamas.
The truth is, when you reach the stage of tiredness where it hurts your feet to keep your eyes open and you’ve only just woken up; you start to morph. You don’t remember what normal feels like, or if it even exists. Once you’ve broken through the other side of tiredness and into the bright, shadow filled world of sleep deprivation this is the new normal, or you may have walked in front of headlights, in which instance, you have a serious, serious case.
I’ve got my fingers crossed that things might slow down a little soon, baby might get some sleep and I’ll get back on top of my work, but just in case… Next time you see the lady in the check out queue, gently rocking her grocery basket back and forth, instead of backing away slowly, approach with caution and gently ask her if she remembers where she left her kids.