Last night I walked into a door.  Flat faced, had to check if I had a bloody nose, into a door.  It wasn’t the first time…I was the unfortunate recipient of the nick-name “Tyson” (as in Mike, the boxer…taking down whatever is in front of him) in Middle School.  I had an excuse.  The doors were almost ALWAYS open…and they were glass…and they were really really clean…

But anyway.

Last night I got up to use the restroom, as I have done a gajillion times before.  On the way back I turned right to go back to bed and “WHAM” into the door of the linen closet.  Hard.  I was totally confused.  I had no idea how it happened.  I didn’t even remember leaving the bathroom.  I hit it so hard I had to go back to see if my nose was bleeding and I had this since of panic.  This odd vanity crept out and said to me, “Oh my God!  I hope I didn’t break my nose!  I have such a perfect nose!  I don’t want my nose to be all funky!”.  It was almost as surprising as the door…

Sherman said I must have been sleep walking.  I’m going to go with that.  Anything else is scary black-out seizure territory, and I won’t be thinking about that.

I did wake up this morning and feel incredibly relieved…no bumps…no weird angles…everything precisely where it should be.

Thank God…cause you know…some character may have killed me…

Then again I was also the only one celebrating with the Super Duper Hugo Popcorn and Soda pack.

Even that may have been $15.00 well spent but the McDonalds right after was definately the decision of my inner 15 year old…

There’s no way that me in my thirties wisdom would injest so much sodium, fat, and caffeine in a three hour span.

Guess I wont be sleeping tonight…

Duh.

Now it’s 8:53 and my yawns are making my eyes water and the pages blur…

I think it would be best to leave it alone for tonight if for no other reason than to avoid embarrasing spelling errors or accidnetly post on the wrong blog…

And I have a paper cut…

And I think I should watch Twilight…

Then it taints the day, same song on repeat, tiredness seeping through.

Doing the basic remedies though, had some coffee, a walk, sushi.  Usually pretty helpful.

I do hate the feeling though, the anxious and edgey for no reason.  I’m not typically a doom in the future sort of gal, but moods like this give me the “what’s up” sort of vibes…

I’m pretty sure it begins with birth.  In my experience, labor was fifteen minutes of hell.  Everyone else around said it was a good two hours.  That is a good time control, a happy one, one that you are thankful for.  Three months of colic, that lasted at least a year.  The meltdowns before bedtime?  The ones that ACTUALLY occurred the past two nights?  Felt like a month.  The amount of time screaming during those meltdowns.  To me, two hours.  To the world, twenty minutes.

Sherman wrote about it the other day.  Today it hit me pretty hard.  I can’t control the time.  I can pay attention to it, I can just be there, but getting truly upset about it won’t help.

Right now, at this minute, today has been great.  I missed some of it, I missed it because I was worried about the next meltdown, worried about “if” he would sleep, worried about being so tired and rundown.  It was later in the day when I kind of snapped out of it and tickled iJah.  I tickled him until he couldn’t laugh anymore.  I videotaped it.  It took at least an hour to me.  The video is two minutes long.

So now, Sherman is settling him down again, he was been wakeful lately.  But he got in bed, with very little fight.  He ate cereal, rolled, smiled, played, read books, and sometimes cried.  I missed some of that because I wasn’t paying attention.  I’m glad I got the laughter, and glad to know that the time isn’t always doing what I think it is.

Still up at one, and I know Ijah will be up soon, so I’m still kinda amped.  Still up at two, I’m pissed I couldn’t sleep and wonder if it’s worth it now.  Everything is LOUD.  The radiators bang and hiss, I hear the cats, people outside, Sherman breathing.  Everything is so loud.  I move to the living room to try for quiet, but I just get different loud. Three and I’m convinced this will be the night Elijah sleeps through and I will be awake to witness every minute of it.  Three-thirty and I feel myself drifting, finally, then I hear Ijah, and nearly burst into tears.

It’s four by the time I get back in bed.  I’m not sure when I drifted off.  Ijah is up again at 8:30.  Honestly, its a good sleeping night for him, but I am too tired to notice.  I got up though, made the bed, did the dishes, I wasn’t cranky, I was vowing not to be cranky.  I had a good morning with Sherman, and took a shower.  So the “good day” attempt is going pretty well. 

I’m pretty sure its been a year since I have slept more than three hours in a row on average.  In some ways I’m getting used to it.  In others I’m wondering how much longer my body and mind can take it.

Sleep deprivation gives everything sharper edges.  The good is great, the bad is terrible, and the middle ground is harder to find. 

Today I’m trying to see the good, trying not to be too sharp, and praying for a long nap.