Adventures in Sleep DeprivationRebecca Woolf
Yesterday I told Fable “she looked beautiful in her sandwich” and by “sandwich” I meant “headband” because sandwiches and headbands are very easy to confuse, obviously. The day before that, I got frustrated because my leggings were being super weird when I tried to put them on. And by super weird I mean: a sweater. And then I walked down to the corner store to buy an Avocado to have with the Quinuevos Rancheros I was planning to make for dinner and left the store with a bunch of weird tea instead. Weird tea and no avocado. And on Monday, while waiting for Archer outside his school, I got seduced into having an actual conversation with an adult human. And it went like this:
Parent: “Hey, Rebecca! How’s it going?”
Me: “Hi… you!” (Totally forgot her name.) I’m so… here. I’m… going to go see… what? How’s the backpack drop questions for the night shift? What am I saying! I haven’t slept in, like, sick. I’m sick. That’s why my voice is. How’s your day?
Parent: What? Oh. I’m fine.
Me: Don’t listen to my voice because it doesn’t know to talk when mind is ready for answers!
Parent: Oh, okay.
Me: English is not first my language I know. I’m… having a day for lots of thinking. Did you sign up for the thing to go to the trip for Thanksgiving lunch? I made a check out to the person in the room I hope they got it.
And worse than that, I went on. And on. And on… it was like the more I kept talking gibberish, the more I assumed I needed to continue talking. Gibberish. Perhaps to make up for my nonsense with sense. Except… no.
The next day, I tried to explain “yesterday’s talking problem” as an effect of the extreme sleep deprivation I was enduring but the word “deprivation” was replaced by a neighborhood in Queens.
“Sorry about yesterday. I was dealing with sleep astoria.”
I have no idea where that came from. But after that, I shut my mouth, the end.
And don’t even get me started on the amount of time it takes me to write a post these days, and that’s not just because I’m writing one-handed, with a baby in my left arm. My brain is mush which is not ideal when it’s your job to sit at a computer every day and compose coherent sentences.
Since my mom left last Sunday night, I’ve slept little if at all. We worked out a system where I stayed up at night and slept in the morning but now, I’m up all night with the babies (with an hour of sleep here and there) and then I’m up all day. So what I’m feeling right now is a combo package of extreme jet-lag, a bad hangover and insanity. Topped, of course, with a flu-shot inflicted flu. So, yeah, I’m basically firing on zero cylinders and at this point, it’s hard for me to care whether or not I just spelled cylinders correctly. (Apparently I did just spell it correctly which is a miracle.)
Luckily, I’m not alone. Hal, although spoiled with a handsome five to six hours of sleep at night, is also exhausted. The day I forgot the avocado, complimented Fable on her “sandwich” and used “Astoria” to describe my lack of sleep, I found Hal pacing the living room cursing at our Muppet Show box set.
Apparently, the label he had spent hours figuring out how to make and print perfectly was accidentally applied to a The Muppets: Season One: Disc One DVD instead.
“IT WAS THE ONLY ONE I MADE!” Hal said, holding up the muppet DVD, Kermit peeking out from behind the label for the following day’s pitch presentation.
I started to laugh.
“WHAT’S SO FUNNY!?!”
… And then I laughed harder. I laughed and I laughed and I told him about my day and then he laughed and then we both laughed and then we cried a little and laughed again.
Ten minutes later, I found the long lost presentation DVD and Hal had magically removed his label from The Muppet Show.
That night, in the wreckage of another insane day, we joined voices to repeat the parenting mantra I find myself regularly turning to these days:
“For better, for worse, everything is temporary, even this.”
That includes the “sandwich headbands” and sweater leggings, the sleep Astoria with a side of forgotten avocados, the Muppet DVD and cursing husbands, the perfect sleeping babies on my chest as I write this…