Pardon Our Dust
I've been AWOL for awhile. This can only mean one thing: La BunBun hasn't been sleeping through the night. Which means, of course, that I haven't been sleeping through the night. Sleep deprivation is the lumberjack, and I, dear reader, am the tree, felled at the knees.
Lack of sleep doesn't just make me tired, it sucks me dry -- leaving me a brittle shell of myself; someone stumbling, bleary-eyed and vacant, through her days; surviving instead of living.
In the past few weeks, running on fumes and too tired or resistant or stubborn or scared to ask for enough help, I'll admit I've come unglued. Bear in mind that this delicate piece of machinery called Me was held together with a chewed stick of Trident and a broken bobby pin to begin with, so the results have not been pretty.
Or fun.
No one told me when I was fixing to pop out a baby that in becoming a mother, you aren't just magically bestowed a beautiful new life; your old one is taken away in exchange. All the hard fought and won ways I had learned to function in the world, the person I'd honed myself into over the last thirty-odd years, my tricks and skills for getting through my days, for staying sane and being content -- these all ceased to function. Were made redundant. Evaporated in an instant. No longer applicable or possible or available.
Sometimes it feels like I walked out of a fire with third degree burns and now I have to stitch together a new skin for myself out of my own charred remains.
Try doing that on a few hours of sleep here and there. (I know many of you have, and didn't even need to complain about it, and I am in awe.)
With absolutely no other choice, I've had to ask for more help -- a proposition as enticing to me as gargling Clorox. But unbelievably to me, help is forthcoming. I've circled my wagons and am watching the cavalry crest the hills in the distance, on their way to me.
This morning my friend Jen posted this video on Facebook. It was filmed down the road from me, but hits close to home in a much more metaphorical way. It speaks to the tyranical control freak in me, but gives me hope of a creative outlet for that maniac - the operative word being outlet -- as in LET her OUT already.
I hope you enjoy it.
Lack of sleep doesn't just make me tired, it sucks me dry -- leaving me a brittle shell of myself; someone stumbling, bleary-eyed and vacant, through her days; surviving instead of living.
In the past few weeks, running on fumes and too tired or resistant or stubborn or scared to ask for enough help, I'll admit I've come unglued. Bear in mind that this delicate piece of machinery called Me was held together with a chewed stick of Trident and a broken bobby pin to begin with, so the results have not been pretty.
Or fun.
No one told me when I was fixing to pop out a baby that in becoming a mother, you aren't just magically bestowed a beautiful new life; your old one is taken away in exchange. All the hard fought and won ways I had learned to function in the world, the person I'd honed myself into over the last thirty-odd years, my tricks and skills for getting through my days, for staying sane and being content -- these all ceased to function. Were made redundant. Evaporated in an instant. No longer applicable or possible or available.
Sometimes it feels like I walked out of a fire with third degree burns and now I have to stitch together a new skin for myself out of my own charred remains.
Try doing that on a few hours of sleep here and there. (I know many of you have, and didn't even need to complain about it, and I am in awe.)
With absolutely no other choice, I've had to ask for more help -- a proposition as enticing to me as gargling Clorox. But unbelievably to me, help is forthcoming. I've circled my wagons and am watching the cavalry crest the hills in the distance, on their way to me.
This morning my friend Jen posted this video on Facebook. It was filmed down the road from me, but hits close to home in a much more metaphorical way. It speaks to the tyranical control freak in me, but gives me hope of a creative outlet for that maniac - the operative word being outlet -- as in LET her OUT already.
I hope you enjoy it.
Oh girl. You and I are in such similar places. Congrats on the circling wagons, you deserve wagons full of treats, sleep, love, more naps and well earned peace.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sweet Jane. I hear the fresh air and views from Sanity Mountain beckoning us...
ReplyDeleteI hear you. Was in a meeting yesterday (the same day you wrote this) and realized my shirt was on inside out AND backwards. Luckily, it was the first meeting of the day. Luckily, most of the people in the meeting were well-trusted colleagues. Luckily, I was able to laugh about it and then go get more coffee. Crazy, nutty life!
ReplyDeleteyou see, more people should express how they feel about motherhood. most women i know never talk about sleep deprivation or the shells of their former selves... thank you for posting this. it reminds me that it is ok to feel this way. <3
ReplyDeleteThanks Misha and Emily! Misha, there's such pressure on us to look to the outside world like we've got everything under control. If we could just dare to tell the truth about our situation, we'd probably find that everyone else is struggling more than we think. Then we could be of some comfort to one another!
ReplyDelete