I read somewhere that extended sleep deprivation can kill a person.
I have not slept through the night since before Pixie was born. She is almost a year old now, so add about nine months onto that and we’re looking at a lot of lost sleep. On a good night, she wakes up just once. On a bad night, she can wake up to six times. Sometimes she goes straight back to sleep. Sometimes she wants to stay awake and play or talk to Mommy.
I am still alive. Sort of. Hubby and I started watching “The Walking Dead” a while back and I must confess that although I like some of the main characters, the ones I really relate to are the zombies. Most days, I shuffle around with only one thought: caffeeeeeeine. (At least it’s not: braaaaaaains.)
One of my friends cheers me on with, “You made it out the house! And you’re not in your pyjamas! Well done, you!” When you’re a zombie mom, it’s really the little things in life that need to be celebrated. Like managing to shower in the mornings, because feeling like the undead is one thing, but looking and smelling like the undead is pushing the limit. (Unless it’s the morning after six wake up calls. Then, anything goes.)
I have had to learn to let go of the mom I think I should be (goodbye, Bree van de Kamp) and embrace my inner zombie. One day I will have the energy to do super duper creative crafts with Poppet before cooking a gourmet meal for Hubby – perhaps, very far in the future. For today, I got Poppet to school. We’re not in our pyjamas. I made the bed.