Sleep, and not the Triumph Of The Will


We’ve got La Serpiente well trained now. If she wakes in the night, she doesn’t go and disturb her mother, she goes to the spare room to disturb me. We had hoped that the Gro Clock would be enough for when she woke in the night: she’d see it was still blue, rather than orange, and go back to sleep, but thus far although she realises it’s time to stay in bed, she has to swish out of her room in her sleep sack, plaintively call to me, then immediately go back to her bed and lie down to sleep again. If there wasn’t this swisheroo, I’d be getting a proper night’s sleep and having a brain and willpower, instead of being a wet mess of panic and fear every day.

So it was for me today: the second time this week I’ve got an email pointing out something cataclysmically important requiring resolution in thirty minutes. Notwithstanding that nothing is that important and it certainly isn’t something which can get fixed in thirty minutes, I still end up feeling like Wile E Coyote, pawing the air above an abyss I’m about to fall into. And yet, not yet, not yet. Each day is another day that I’m airbourne.

Today’s madness went on from about the moment I got in, until an hour before I left, and it didn’t help that I didn’t have a chance to get lunch (two bananas and a packet of crisps) until 3pm. I’ve learnt from all this that my willpower is too weak, although that’s not a sensible thing to say. It’s probably more accurate that I’ve spread myself much too thinly. If I could step back, deprioritise a few things and not feel I have to do everything, all the time, I’d have a much healthier mental state.

But then I probably wouldn’t have lost over 5 kilos since the start of the year. That’s some sort of achievement.

Yeah, some sort. As in, “are you some sort of ____?” as we used to ask one another when we did something particularly stupid. Maybe I’m going to blame it all on my two-year-old sleep deprivation machine. Now that’s what I call responsible parenting.


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