I see we’ve met again and I can’t say it’s a pleasure. I just wish you’d grow up. I’ve moved on. Why can’t you? We used to have so much fun dancing together in ‘da’ club, lining up at the 24 hour McDonalds drive through after an evening of dancing, sitting in a beach carpark – you, me, a best friend and a meaningful late night chat. I didn’t even mind you too much when you signalled a wake up call so I could tend to the Little Mister who needed a late night feed. I’d hear him crying, I would see that you had arrived again and I would just do what I had to do. You kept me company. But, 2am, things have changed. I’ve changed. Even the Little Mister has changed. He’s now 11 months old, but you never seem to care what’s going on in my life. You just drain me of my energy, regardless. That’s not something a true friend would do.
Anyway, what I’m saying is that the Little Mister no longer needs you or me. He (mostly – don’t want to jinx it) sleeps through the night all by himself now, and has done for weeks. This means that I have the opportunity to finally do something for myself. Something selfish and nurturing just for me. SLEEP.
No-one told me about the insomnia a parent feels when their child first starts sleeping through (after a long stretch of crazy teething and anxiety filled nights). WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?!! When the Little Mister would wake constantly I just fell into autopilot and did what I had to do. I’d get up, deal with the problem and when I got back into bed I would sleep so hard. Until the next wake up. I adjusted. I just dreamed of the time when you would no longer be in my life, 2am and thought that my 8 glorious hours of sleep per night would magically return to me once the Little Mister figured out how to last the night without intervention. I mean, I was tired enough to sleep forever, right? Wrong. You, 2am, made sure of that. Turns out I had to re-learn how to sleep through, just like the Little Mister.
Now when you selfishly wake me from my slumber, I cannot get back to sleep. You’re like that crazy, cursed time of the wee hours when I just cannot help but stay awake the rest of the night. It’s funny but 1:59am and 3am never give me grief. You’re just that hour of ridiculous. You put thoughts in my head that should only be dealt with in broad daylight. You make me ask questions of myself that no sleep deprived person should have to answer. You create worries, where at 1:59am there were none. Everything from how I feel about my relationships, to how I need to structure the week ahead. Like the entire week. Every hour of every day and how to work everything around the Little Mister. Then upon thinking those thoughts, I ask myself if I’m doing the right thing. A first time parent asking themselves if they’re doing the right thing is a dangerous path to walk down at 2am. I hardly ask myself that crap when I’m awake and thinking straight. The 2pm me and the 2am me are very different people.
I tried to ignore you. I tried to avoid checking the time when I woke up at night. Sometimes it worked – I just blocked you out. Other times it’s not so easy. The Little Mister might temporarily cry before settling himself and I can’t help myself. I check the time, because I want to see if a pattern is emerging and then BAM! You hit me. I don’t need your abuse anymore. I’m better than that.
I know you can’t control other variables, like a full bladder after a bit too much water, my husband snoring like … well, something that is loud and annoying, and the Little Mister occasionally having a little late night babble in his cot (the only downside of having a baby monitor), but you need to take responsibility for all the other times you wake me. It’s unnecessary and it’s quite frankly, immature. I won’t get up to play. I will hunker down further under my quilt and I will have nothing but bad words to say to you. We are no longer friends.
I know that I cannot just wish you out of existence. If that was so, then we’d skip straight from 1:59am to 3am and I would potentially lose an extra hour of sleep. I need all the sleep I can get – that’s the problem! I just want you to stop harassing me. Leave my body clock alone and go hang out with those young(er) childless folk we know. They need you. They need to appreciate your existence before they too join the world of parenthood (I know this all too well). I just cannot be that person you want me to still be. I’m sorry, but we’re over.
Love From Kez.