A dream I swear, I swear a dream
Last night, Loaf woke up again.
“Bad dream, Mommy! Bad dream!”
And while I initially fought bringing her into bed fearing the horror of her teeth grinding, I eventually acquiesced out of exhaustion and into bed she came. (I know I should stand my ground on this, but when it’s 3:09 a.m. and you’re so tired you can barely stand, it’s a lot more appealing to take the easy road).
So anyway, she’s in bed and not sleeping. She’s rolling and kicking and sitting up and talking to the cat (who, judging by the speed at which her tail was twitching, was just as annoyed about Loaf being there as I was). Every so often I’d hiss at her: Loaf! Go to sleep. Go to sleep now or I will bring you back to your crib!
Finally, she did sleep, but I did not. Laying awake, my brain ran endlessly through the next day’s to-do list: the work I had to do, the playdate Peanut had, the messy state of my house. I earned for sleep, but it did not seem to come.
Then, suddenly it was morning. It was 7 a.m. and Peanut was standing at my bedside. “Get up, Mom! Breakfast!”
And Loaf was equally cheerful: Good morning, Mommy!
I, however, was not. After all, I’d been up since 3 a.m. I was exhausted to the bone. I could barely think. I pulled on my robe and walked, zombie-like, out to the kitchen where Mark, who slept on the couch last night, was cheerfully brewing a pot of coffee (I don’t touch the stuff, this was solely for his own benefit).
He tried being nice, but I was completely sour and not having it.
“You realize I’ve been up since three-fucking-a.m., right?” I said in my most evil tone. And then, I could barely believe what was pouring out of my mouth. A diarrhea of curse words so foul I couldn’t believe my own ears. The children stood there, gape mouthed and dumbstruck. Mark looked at me like I’d been possessed by some f-word using demon.
But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The swears just kept coming.
Fuck this and this fucking life and its fucking lack of sleep. Fuck you. Fuck it all. I just want to fucking sleep. I want to go back to fucking bed. Fuck you and stupid coffee.
And then I had a sudden, strong urge to pee. And realized I was still in bed and the room was pitch black. I looked at the clock: 4:54 a.m.
I was dreaming. I’d fallen asleep after all, and dreamed the whole thing.
The dream was so real, it took me a few minutes to process that it wasn’t. And after I’d visited the bathroom and slipped back into bed, I fell instantly into a deep, profanity-free sleep, which was a huge relief. I’m not sure what it means? Was it truly frustration over not being able to sleep? Or my mind’s response to the P.C. (parentally correct) language I have to use all the time now. I have no idea, but there is a plus side: so long as I don’t talk in my sleep, I’ve found one more safe place to swear.
“Bad dream, Mommy! Bad dream!”
And while I initially fought bringing her into bed fearing the horror of her teeth grinding, I eventually acquiesced out of exhaustion and into bed she came. (I know I should stand my ground on this, but when it’s 3:09 a.m. and you’re so tired you can barely stand, it’s a lot more appealing to take the easy road).
So anyway, she’s in bed and not sleeping. She’s rolling and kicking and sitting up and talking to the cat (who, judging by the speed at which her tail was twitching, was just as annoyed about Loaf being there as I was). Every so often I’d hiss at her: Loaf! Go to sleep. Go to sleep now or I will bring you back to your crib!
Finally, she did sleep, but I did not. Laying awake, my brain ran endlessly through the next day’s to-do list: the work I had to do, the playdate Peanut had, the messy state of my house. I earned for sleep, but it did not seem to come.
Then, suddenly it was morning. It was 7 a.m. and Peanut was standing at my bedside. “Get up, Mom! Breakfast!”
And Loaf was equally cheerful: Good morning, Mommy!
I, however, was not. After all, I’d been up since 3 a.m. I was exhausted to the bone. I could barely think. I pulled on my robe and walked, zombie-like, out to the kitchen where Mark, who slept on the couch last night, was cheerfully brewing a pot of coffee (I don’t touch the stuff, this was solely for his own benefit).
He tried being nice, but I was completely sour and not having it.
“You realize I’ve been up since three-fucking-a.m., right?” I said in my most evil tone. And then, I could barely believe what was pouring out of my mouth. A diarrhea of curse words so foul I couldn’t believe my own ears. The children stood there, gape mouthed and dumbstruck. Mark looked at me like I’d been possessed by some f-word using demon.
But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The swears just kept coming.
Fuck this and this fucking life and its fucking lack of sleep. Fuck you. Fuck it all. I just want to fucking sleep. I want to go back to fucking bed. Fuck you and stupid coffee.
And then I had a sudden, strong urge to pee. And realized I was still in bed and the room was pitch black. I looked at the clock: 4:54 a.m.
I was dreaming. I’d fallen asleep after all, and dreamed the whole thing.
The dream was so real, it took me a few minutes to process that it wasn’t. And after I’d visited the bathroom and slipped back into bed, I fell instantly into a deep, profanity-free sleep, which was a huge relief. I’m not sure what it means? Was it truly frustration over not being able to sleep? Or my mind’s response to the P.C. (parentally correct) language I have to use all the time now. I have no idea, but there is a plus side: so long as I don’t talk in my sleep, I’ve found one more safe place to swear.
Labels: potty mouth, Who needs sleep?
posted by Kimberly at
9:17 PM
2 Comments:
Sleep deprivation will totally do that to a girl! I hope you get some f'in rest tonight!
I hope you were able to get some rest! Sounds like your mind was working overtime & it all came out in your funky dream. Isn't it weird to wake up from a dream in which you were yelling? I've had that happen and it so unsettling!
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