Last night I was up until 3am. That was all fine and dandy until Ella woke up at 6am like a freaking rooster standing on the bed crowing “Mom, can you read ‘The Polite Elephant’ PLLLEEeeeeeeeEEEEEeeeeEEEEeeaaaaaaAAAAAASE?” Instead I flipped on the TV and rolled over to get some of that one-eye-open sleep which is for crap anyway I should’ve just gotten up. You get no real value from one eye open sleep, because you know your toddler could at any moment dump that full glass of water from your nightstand right into your bed or happily find her way down to the kitchen make an attempt at frying eggs for the dog. You sleep in 40 second chunks and every time you hear a noise you sit straight up adrenaline pumping briefly, only to settle back under the covers with a sigh while you grasp at chunks of dream desperately trying to drag them back. It’s just a terrible way of trying to fool yourself into thinking you are actually getting more sleep.
When nap time came, instead of lying down with Ella I read the paper instead thinking “It’s fine, I don’t feel tired”, this was almost the same as saying “It’ll be easier to just stay up all night”. It sounds like a brilliant plan until you are actually executing it. By 7:00pm I was exhausted and wishing I had taken that nap. It’s been a long time since I tried to function on three hours of sleep and it does me no good, just none. It makes me snappy and snarky and mean. Yet here I sit at 11:44pm typing away. Good night dear internet, see you on Thursday when I will have a coherent thought to deliver. I promise.