Thursday, December 8, 2011
3:13am Is The New 6:13am. Or The Other Way Around. I Don't Fucking Know. I'm Tired.
I get by on no more than six hours of sleep a night. I'm rarely asleep before midnight and always awake by 6am. Ish.
And I get up at least once to pee.
It's not that I don't like to sleep. I fucking love it. My life just isn't conducive to a whole lot of it.
When I hear the kids at 6ish, and I begin the task of dragging my carcass out of its cocoon, my first thought it always;
I can't wait to crawl back into this cozy warm quiet awesomeness.
So. Last night I hear Bea call out;
I don't fish around the darkness for my glasses. I squint hard enough to squish my eyeballs enough to decipher 3:13 on the clock radio. I'm pissed.
Stormage down the hall to find out what emergency has Bea wailing for help at 3 fucking thirteen AM.
Her big toe that had peeped out of the blanket needed covering up. And?
*whining* "I'm not tired. I can't sleeeeeep."
"Well. You're going to. It's the middle of the night. Everyone's asleep. See you in the morning."
Quick glance to make sure Owen is still unconscious. His bed is empty.
Stompage down stairs in search of Owen, whom I scare the bejeezus out of as his face is glued to the computer in the playroom, and sans hearing aids, he doesn't know I'm about to burst in signing angrily;
*Not morning! Look! Outside dark. Mommy, Daddy, Bea all sleeping. Need go bed. Now!*
Follow his grumping ass back upstairs and see him tucked back in bed.
*whining* "I not tired."
*Mommy very tired. Mommy need more sleep. You try sleep more. See you later.*
Stompage back to my room. Resist slammage of door. Collapse into warm cocoon.
"What the fuck was that all about?"
"Little shits are awake. Bea needing blankets adjusted and Owen on the fucking computer. At THREE in the fucking morning! Fuckers!!"
"What are you talking about? It's almost six thirty."
"Not like that!!! Gawd!! Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."