My mother always warned me that I would one day become an insomniac. She said when she was my age she could sleep on a plane, on a train, in a house, with a mouse. Then middle-age hit and WHAM! Insomnia.
Now here I am, twenty-seven. I didn't think that counted as middle aged until I started waking up at three in the morning all the damn time. Last night I was thrashing around like a dying carp until dawn, at which point I invariably fell back asleep only to be snatched from sleep forty five minutes later by a merciless alarm. It's my new thing that I do.
The worst part is how worthless I become without sleep (and I'm talking without like nine hours of sleep. I don't mess around.) When my roiling wakes Ryan up and he lays awake all night trying to coax my inexplicably neurotic body back to slumber he always manages to follow up with a productive day. He asks me questions like "What shall we do for dinner?" and I reply by drooling down my shirt and making a noise that hastens the image of barnyard animals. I spend nine consecutive hours on Facebook and have nary a new friend to show for it. I don't do my homework or laundry. I don't do anything.
If this is what happens when I miss one measly night, may I ask, what will become of my if I produce hypothetical offspring? I am told they suck on your breasts all night long. I am also told "you'll sleep right through it." Folks, I'm all for natural parenting, and we all know breastfeeding has a friend in me. But now hear this: if I ever have to nurse ANYONE or ANYTHING sixteen times in the night, do not be surprised when I administer a full dose of Nyquil to that one or thing to make it stop squalling because...I really, really have a hard time when I don't sleep.
Cue the violins. All you moms are thinking I am a real sucker. And you may be right, but I would add that I am a WHINEY sucker. A whiney, whiney sucker. With insomnia.