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When I am Glenn Close and Sleep is My Michael Douglas

My 15-month old is teething, bless her little sleep-killing soul. I should feel bad for her, but let’s be honest, my empathy went out the window at midnight, then 2 am, again at 3 am and at 5 o’clock this morning.

Before kids I would go to bed and wake up whenever I felt the need. Sleep wasn’t a topic of conversation in my world. But now that I am a mother, I realize it is the stuff life is made of.

I am Glenn Close and sleep is my Michael Douglas. I obsess about sleep when I wake up in the morning. I dream about it when I am actually able to close my eyes for a few minutes. Sleep is forbidden but nothing else seems to satisfy. 

A glimpse into my internal obsession with sleep

Fatal Attraction Image Courtesy of Paramount Pictures

Before sleep deprivation, I could prioritize things like, for example, showers. I blow dried and brushed my hair every day. Scouts honor. Now I use those extra moments to rest. Those who know me now probably assume I was born with a messy bun on top of my head. 

I have a graveyard of high heels in my closet where those red, beautiful pumps beckon me to remember a time lost to childbirth, babywearing, and breastfeeding. Even when I am sans kids, I am too tired to balance on a pencil heel. I go for comfort EVERY TIME for fear of falling over from exhaustion.

My husband and I used to date on a whim. Now, it takes weeks of preparation and planning to make an outing of 3 hours happen. When we are able to go out alone, often we admit that we both just really want to sleep.

Don’t get me started with sex. After a long day, we groggily look at each other. “Want to get it on? Let’s check our schedule. Does Saturday work? Great. It’s gonna be goooooood” (heads hit the pillow and snoring commences). 

Before kids I was sharp. Oh boy, was I sharp. I could remember things like what I just said or where we went yesterday or where my purse is located in the house. Now when someone asks me a question, I bumble for a few seconds, then wave my white flag and just say, “I’m tired.”

I could and should go on to remind myself that it’s all worth it and I’ll be thankful someday and it’s only a season. But honestly, right now I don’t care about that. I just want a pillow, a warm bed, a dark silent room and 14 hours of uninterrupted time. Is that too much to ask? 


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