This post is part of ChicagoNow's monthly "Blogapalooza" challenge where bloggers are given a prompt at 9 PM and one hour to complete a post on the topic. Tonight's challenge was, “Write about sleep and the impact it has on your life now or at any point in your life”.
How divine. How apropos. How right-on-the-money. Writing about sleep and its impact on my life is so right up my eight and half month pregnant body's alley. As soon as I saw this topic I thought about how I could go on and on about the one gripe I've had during this journey of becoming a first time mother; I never sleep through the night. Not once since finding out that I was pregnant have I said good night to my husband and then opened my eyes when I hear the alarm. The first trimester it was extreme anxiety. After trying for over two years to conceive, I ran a continual mental slideshow of everything that could go wrong with the pregnancy, because if bad things happened to other people, why wouldn't bad things happen to me? With my trusty i-phone in hand to research each and every malady that could end this miracle I would research the blogs to see if half of one Tylenol PM would affect the baby, or if the weird pains I felt across my abdomen were normal, or if lifting something heavy, like a basket of laundry would come back to haunt me. Heck, one time I researched whether or not sneezing could cause a miscarriage (I was flat on my back and I let out a huge sneeze that felt like it ripped out all my lower intestines and perhaps, I thought, my uterus). I would check many Chinese Gender charts to guess what I might be having. We're NOT finding out the sex, no we don't care, no we're not dying to paint pink or blue or introduce the name or sex to the world before we find out in the delivery room. We're ok with this decision, so we hope you are too (call me old fashion, but it freaks me out to attend a baby shower with a picture of the ultra sound on display and then receive a thank you card FROM THE UNBORN BABY).
There's something I should share, this lack of sleep didn't start with being pregnant. I've always had issues with it. Actually, I love to sleep, love my bed, and love sleeping in. On school days when I was a teenager I would sleep until the last minute when my mother threatened to pour a cup of water on my head if I didn't get in the shower. I would have to be woken up by noon on Sundays for fear that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep that night. I loved sleep so much that I would not schedule a college class before 10am. Even today, I don't watch morning tv, I don't sit with a cup of coffee and diddle around while I collect my thoughts for the day. I sleep until the very last minute so that I wake up, jump in the shower and walk out the door (usually with wet hair). I know, I'm in store for a rude awakening with the sleepless nights of my new life with a newborn. Payback, my mother would say.
So now we know, once I actually fall asleep, I love it. Alas, it's getting to that place that's my downfall. Growing up I didn't love sleepovers because I hated being the last one awake on someone's basement floor in my stinky sleeping bag. I just can't fall asleep like normal people. Do you know how many tents/basements/hotel rooms I've been in where a nearby guy and girl are hooking up while I played possum and tried to think of anything to make myself lie still like a statue?
Now that I'm in the last few weeks of this pregnancy thing I'm used to getting up between two to six times each night to use the bathroom and then staying awake to surf the web. I even position the pillows on my side to create a sort of light barrier as to not wake up my husband who likes to remind me that the light from the phone will actually keep me up. Ha. The light is keeping me company. The light is my friend. At least I don't go in the guest bedroom and watch reality shows. That's a sign of giving up. Sleep. Counting sheep. Waiting for the baby. Sleep, my forever nemesis. If this post makes no sense of all, I blame a lack of sleep.