1000 Months Pregnant And Counting
I know, I know, it’s Hot on The Titties Friday. But the truth is I used up all my hot yesterday on Fuck You Thursday. The other truth is that I am just really really really tired. And getting all hot like that takes energy. Energy that is being sucked out of me like gas being siphoned out of a fuel tank.
Do you want to know what it’s like to sleep when you are 1000 months pregnant?
So do I.
Cause the fact is, I’m not really sleeping anymore. Now please, please, with a cherry on top and all of that shit, resist the urge to tell me how it’s a good way for my body to get used to all the sleepless nights approaching with Little Buddy. Because I have a toddler, remember? So been there, done that, haven’t slept all the way through the night since 2009.
There are a couple of patterns that happen these days. The first scenario is that I go to bed, and while I lay there contemplating whether or not to read a book, I fall asleep. This is probably the lesser of the evils. But guran-fucking-teed, I will awaken a couple of hours later to be irritated by one of the three dogs. Someone will need to go out. Someone will piss on the carpet downstairs. Someone will be pacing around, click clacking their fucking nails on the hardwood floor. Someone will get threatened with amputation and/or the sausage factory.
I will try to go back to sleep, and discover that my feet are unbearably itchy. Or I have this super cool thing called a hot flash. (Yeah, preparation for menopause, thanks dickwad).
I finally doze off to hear the screaming of the Destroyer. We are in nightmare phase right now, so I have been sharing the bed with a bed hogging toddler some nights. I have broken my own rule of no co-sleeping. I suck.
By 6am I just give up. Fuck it. I am doomed to be tired for ever. And ever.
The other delightful scenario is when I can’t fucking sleep at all. When I am so uncomfortable that I lie in bed all night tossing and turning, needing the cool air from a fan, but kept awake by the noise of it. When every little sound sends me into a hormonal tantrum. When I wish someone could just sedate me until Little Buddy arrives, and I can drink a little lullaby called rum when I can’t sleep.
Rum. The difference between a dream and a nightmare is that a dream has rum in it. At least according to Jack Sparrow. So I guess I am living a nightmare.
So yeah. I’m not hot on my tits today kids. I’m resting my tired, sleepless, beached whale, pregnant head on them.
Trying to figure out what sleep feels like when you are 1000 months pregnant.
If anyone has some advice that actually works, I’d love to hear it.