Last night I only got a few hours of sleep due to the sniffles. My 3-month-old son has a little cold, but even "little colds" can turn into nightmares in the middle of the night. With the dry Denver air, liquid snot quickly becomes something more akin to cement, and breathing becomes difficult for him, scary for me to listen to. But alas, we made it through another night. After a night like that, daylight seems to reveal both relief and despair. Even after my rather large mug of java, I was still a bit of a grump.
What I don't like about sleep is not just how I feel (tired, lethargic, headachy) or what it brings out in me (grumpiness, short temper), but how it drains the joy out of life. I love being a mom, and I wouldn't ever trade my kids for anything in the whole world. But I find it hard to play my part on days like this. I do the bare minimum to get by so we will all survive the day. No lullabyes for my baby, no exaggerated exclamations for my preschooler's antics, no extra effort to extract giggles and smiles, no creative ideas for playtime, no effort to make balanced meals (or even to enforce eating). Just survival. Period.
It hasn't been a bad day, but I certainly hope tomorrow brings improvement, at least in ME. It's too bad that sleep has to be such a factor in whether or not that will actually happen. I love my sleep, but I hate that I'm so dependent on it for whether or not I'll be a good mommy. It's my best friend when I get it, and my worst enemy when I don't.
1 month ago