Accustomed to No Sleep
(To the tune of “Accustomed to her Face” from My Fair
Lady)
I've grown accustomed to no sleep
It’s how every day begins
I've grown accustomed to the fact that by 11 am or noon
I yawn, I frown, I’m feeling down.
It’s second nature to me now
Like having jet lag all the time
I didn’t have this vacant look before I decided to give
birth
Surely eight straight hours would help me regain a bit of
mirth
I've grown accustomed to being tired, accustomed to
feeling blah
Accustomed to no sleep.
I really love my little children and ask you not to forget
That without them this song would have no meaning - and
yet
I sometimes want to weep, I’m sluggish all the time
Accustomed to no sleep.
Do you struggle to keep your eyes open during
ear-blasting, firework displays? Have you gone without a
really good night’s rest for about 200 years? Are you so
tired you could sleep on these words right now? Some
authorities refer to this as “sleep deprivation”. In
actuality, this common phenomenon is a symptom of the
malady we female parental types know as “Motherhood”.
<continued below>
It starts out like this:
One day you’re newly married and partying with friends on
a Friday night, complaining about jobs, husbands, and
commiserating over failed diets. Next day’s Saturday. You
sleep ‘till 10. Saturday afternoon you realize your period
is late. The drug store tester kit reads positive. You’re
so amazed you can’t sleep a wink that whole night.
Motherhood has begun.
Step#1 During pregnancy you toss and turn all night
because there’s a nocturnal, one- ring circus act going on
in your belly. You also have really bad indigestion which
disturbs your sleep, only when you’re not already awake
from having to pee twice a night.
Step#2 Delivery time! In order to obtain your B.A. (Baby
Award) you must moan convincingly for at least 48 hours
straight. Your new baby arrives, gets cleaned up, weighed
and bathed by people who actually know how to do this
stuff. Within 24 hours, you’re wheeled out of the hospital
sitting perched on a rubber doughnut because your groin
feels like a steering wheel just pushed itself out.
A nurse hands you your precious, little bundle and tells
you he’s still a bit jaundiced and you should FEED HIM
ROUND THE CLOCK EVERY TWO HOURS. This stranger incorrectly
assumes you know what to do with this small, human blob
thing. DOESN’T SHE KNOW YOU ARE EXHAUSTED? The nurse waves
goodbye with a smirk. You begin to understand that YOU ARE
NEVER GOING TO SLEEP AGAIN.
Step#3 The next few weeks are lots of fun if you’re into
24 hour cycles of non-stop crying, burping, pooping and
peeing. Junior, despite being kinda cute, has colic and
thrush, can’t digest formula, and seems to be allergic to
both your laundry detergent and your husband. You’re still
fat, too, by the way.
On your first night out sans Junior, friends discuss
fashion, the war in the Middle East and local politics.
You just want to talk about sleep. You’d rather Do IT, but
talking about it helps. You ache for it, would steal for
it. It’s better than sex, better than chocolate. Gimme,
gimme sleep.
NEXT DAY: There will be a two-day window of opportunity
when your baby sleeps through the night without requiring
sustenance. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT. <continued below>
One Day Later: Even though Junior’s social skills consist
only of loopy smiles and uncontrolled drools, you schlep
him to his first play group. This evolves into years of
day care or pre-school, which signifies exposure to BAD
GERMS. You are now awake half the night at least three
times each week wiping his runny nose or sore butt,
administering to a sore throat, itching torso or upset
stomach.
You will also succumb to all of these ailments yourself,
but always a day or so AFTER Junior recovers. This means
you puking all night while the previously barfing Junior
sleeps blissfully in the next room. When you have
additional children, the consequent ones will be sure to
catch the bug and stretch it out so that the Zombie Mother
persona continues for at least two weeks thanks to one lil’
ol’ 24 hour virus.
Step# 4 More children. Same scenarios. They grow up a bit.
You assume you will finally sleep again. Boy, are you
naive!
One kid forgets to lock up the dog, who triggers your
burglar alarm. You crawl back into bed exhausted at 2 a.m.
and remember you didn’t bake brownies for tomorrow’s Grade
5 bake sale. You don’t actually get up and bake, but you
feel so guilty you can’t sleep, which jolts your brain
into worry mode about your new part-time job, Christmas
shopping for your hard-to-please mother-in-law and missing
your oldest child’s visit to the popular orthodontist with
whom you might be able to reschedule in about five months.
Step# 5 A few years go by. Your oldest kid still doesn’t
have a driver’s license, but you, the selfish baby boomer
who waited until your late thirties to give birth for the
first time, find yourself AGAIN peeing two times a night
and not sleeping properly. No, you’re not pregnant. You
have pre-menopausal INSOMNIA.
Every publication you pick up stresses the importance of
sleep to avoid wrinkles and serious illness at this stage
in your life. Based on this theory, you calculate you have
six weeks before you resemble an over-baked Cornish game
hen with chronic back problems.
During the next few years your kids will want to stay out
all night really late. You won’t sleep comfortably until
they’re home.
Welcome to Mother (Yawn) Hood.
Faith Foyil is a freelance humor
writer living in The sunny Bahamas. Her features can be
seen at her column "Time Out" on www.sanitycentral.com and
on her website at www.faithfoyil.com.
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