Saturday 14 February 2015

How to spot a sleep deprived mother

insomnia, sleep deprived, sleep deprivation, parenting blog, funny parenting blog, mother diaries, parenting, motherhood, orange juice, cup of tea, tea

How to spot a sleep deprived mother

(warning, sweary content).

I'm currently writing this at 3:36am. Freddie, my three month old baby, is sound asleep. I'm not even tired anymore - I just feel a weird kind of manic, like I'm going into overdrive. Freddie wakes 3 times a night for at least an hour at a time. I've got to a point where having five hours sleep feels like an utter luxury. I am so used to not sleeping that my body simply can't do it anymore, like some evil evolutionary development. In another hundred years women will take over the world, so used to tiredness that they somehow press on through life, plotting their next move at 4am. See, it's not even sunrise and I've already written a shopping list, put a load of washing on and put the world to rights (all in my little sleep deprived mind). My body has started to do funny things, like my hands shake when I pour myself a drink (no, it's not gin) and I ask people how they are about three times before I realise I'm repeating myself. How are you?

The problem with tiredness is that people still expect you to function as a normal human being. Sure, you're given a window of grace - a good six weeks of 'oh, don't worry, you've just had a baby, of course you're off the hook!' People are very kind and drop round meals and offer to do your washing, and then... Suddenly... Your time is up. It's time to expect raised eyebrows when you answer the door and you're STILL in your pyjamas at 2pm. It's time to start pulling your finger out when your house looks like someone has turned it upside down and given it a good shake. 

How are you?

So, here are some signs of a sleep deprived mother. You have been warned.

Swearing at inanimate objects
I told my washing machine to fuck off yesterday. Yes, a washing machine. It just looked so smug when it said 'error' on the screen because I'd tried to shove too much washing in for its pathetic, shitty little drum capacity. Do you know how much washing I have to do?! And don't get me started on the vacuum cleaner...

Pouring orange juice in your tea
Like fruit teas? Not anymore, because fruit teas now consist of pouring pure orange juice into a teabag in hot water. It's not a good taste, believe me. On Wednesday I also completely missed my cup of tea and poured scolding hot water all over my sodding hand. The kettle got what for that day.

Calling your best friend a completely different name
Please don't think me rude, I know we've known each other for twenty years but I've completely forgotten your name. Please don't make me introduce you to anyone, or worse still, please don't make me introduce my children either, I've forgotten their names too.

Forgetting to look in the mirror
I caught a glimpse of my reflection when I nipped to the shops the other day. My hair was matted to one side of my head in a mixture of sweat and baby sick. I also had toothpaste on my face but I felt quite proud of myself that I'd actually managed to brush my teeth, like it was some sort of medal of honour.

Calling your husband a dick head
Along with the washing machine, actual living things feel my wrath too, namely when I finally get to sleep and then get woken up by my husband snoring. Shut up you dick head, I mutter, like I'm ten. Sometimes he does absolutely nothing to provoke it, I just look at his face and get irritated. He got me into this bloody mess after all.

Not talking
Talking takes too much energy, it needs to be reserved for more important things like making sure your children are still alive. Talking is a luxury I cannot afford. On Thursday myself and my husband went on a date - yes, an actual date, and all I did was eat my spaghetti and stare at his irritating face*.

Sometimes I start to not give a stuff about important things, like paying bills or clearing up or feeding my family nutritious food. What's for breakfast? Bread. What's for dinner? Bread. How are you doing? Bread.

So if you spot any of these signs in a mother please cut her some slack, she may just need to be knocked over the head with a large hammer or some heavy duty sedatives. 

Oh, and how are you?

Fuck off. 

*i love him really. How are you?

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