Project Awesome

Making my life more awesome

You may say that I’m a dreamer…

on November 3, 2014

While my girls went away with their dad for five nights during the half-term holiday, I went on a mini-tour of the South-West: visiting some friends I like very much but see far too infrequently, meeting a baby, going to the sea-side, having a cream tea, being fed very well, and going to Gloucester cathedral.  Oh, and sleeping.  Five nights of gloriously undisturbed sleep.  Bliss!

But somehow, I was still tired.  I was yawning in the middle of the afternoon.  Having spent the past five years longing for more sleep, it wasn’t living up to my expectations.  I felt just slightly spaced most of the time. I even started muttering about sleep being ‘over-rated’.

And then my girls came home: late, tired and over-excited.   Big Girl went to sleep quite quickly.  Small Girl insisted on sleeping in my bed, in her clothes.  Big Girl woke me in the night.  Small Girl slept right in the middle of the bed, making it hard to really sleep, creeping towards me as the night progressed. And at 5am she was awake and wanting attention.  On the second night, Big Girl slept in my bed, and was very little trouble (and makes a lovely hot-water bottle, incidentally).  Small Girl woke up in the night, and I crawled into her bed to resettle her, falling asleep and waking up later to stagger back to my own, confused and tired.

I had forgotten, so quickly, what real tiredness feels like.  That constant headache, clinging to the top of my head. Lethargy.   An overwhelming desire to lie down with my eyes shut.  Irritability.  An inability to do more than the absolute minimum required to survive today.  It’s as if gravity has increased, but only for me.  It is hard to love a life of constant exhaustion.

And then, last night, both my children slept all night, Big Girl in my bed and Small Girl in her own.  I think my brain is happiest when I sleep with my children in the house.  My subconscious likes to know where they are, and that they are safe.  And, more than the sleep itself, I love the injection of hope it brings: that sleep is possible, even for me.

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