Having three children under the age of three, I've learned to get by with less than the 7- 8 hours/night suggested by our doctors. This - coming from one who, as a child, would voluntarily go to bed - says a lot. (Sleep, how do I love thee!)
But these past few weeks have been different. I'm not talkin' "tired" as in pulling an occasional collegiate all-nighter. No, this has felt more like the old torture tactic, commonly known today as sleep deprivation. As in I literally can't see straight.
It started when Jack became unwell. After a week of bringing him into bed with us to get him through the night, Jack not only got better, but also got a lovely new habit. More snuggles! All throughout the night! Multiple times! It got to the point where Erik and I couldn't begin to remember how many times we'd been up with him. Goodbye REMs.
This past week, as best as I can remember it, has resulted in:
1) one phone call home to my mom, to speak some truth into me through the tears. If you know my mom, one phone call with her usually equals a good laugh, too... this time by asking me to hang out with my dear friend, Lady Grey (Lady Grey caffeinated tea.)
2) one face-to-face with Erik, where he took one look at me and promptly packed up his work at the office for a couple of hours to watch the kids so I could sleep. RIP I did, for two straight hours.
3) one phone call to the lactation consultant (an RN and my new BFF), who asked some diagnostic questions about Jack and gave me some advice.
4) three nights (to date) of Jack's missing his mom while at Camp SleepALot.
5) and (this morning) five happy, well-rested smiling Snyders
Space Cadet Sarah, taking an indefinite leave of absence.