Sunday, August 22, 2010

sleep olympics

It's an ongoing contest, the Sleep Olympics. Sid will get home from work at midnight, two AM, and fall asleep on the couch so that Spagett doesn't keep him up. I, however, am stuck in the bedroom with a baby who insists on waking to fuss every hour or so.

By morning, I want to just tear my hair out, scream and cry, and jump out a window. I AM TIRED. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE IT. The other day, I was so exhausted that I was SEEING THINGS. And I am supposed to care for an eight month old teething monster? Sure, I can do it, but not with any modicum of competence.

So in the mornings, Spagett decides he's up for the day at around 7:30, and I try to keep him occupied in the bedroom for as long as possible because I REALLY DON'T WANT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS AND SEE SID ASLEEP ON THE COUCH. It's like a slap in the face. It's jealousy just choking me to death: HE GETS TO SLEEP AND YOU DON'T, HA-FUCKING-HA, BITCH.

Every morning, without fail, Sid wakes when I bring Spagett downstairs, long enough to mumble about how TIRED he is, and then he goes upstairs and sleeps in the bed for another hour or two. Sometimes three. And then in the afternoon, he likes to take another nap before work.

So, it's the Sleep Olympics: he says, "oh, I'm so tired," and I say "oh, really? I was up all night with Spagett." And we apparently feel the need to one-up each other. Now, I'm not really trying to have one over on him, I just want him to ACKNOWLEDGE that I.don't.sleep. I don't nap. I don't get a few baby-free hours to waste in blissful slumber. LIKE CERTAIN PEOPLE...

And I don't even know how it happens, but even on Sid's days off, I'm the only one taking care of Spagett. The other day, he seriously complained about Spagett's diaper, and then left me to change it, wondering why I got angry, because HE WAS DOING SOMETHING ELSE. Well, goddamn it, so was I!

It wears me the hell down. Every day I feel like I come a little closer to my breaking point. Every day my temper gets a little bit shorter, my tongue a little sharper. And I hate it. I hate to see what this is doing to me. Don't get me wrong, I love Spagett, and I know it isn't his fault that he's teething and learning to get around, that he requires so much time and attention. I was ready for that, and I knew it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses. What I wasn't prepared for was Sid's lack of involvement: I was not prepared to raise Spagett like a single mother.

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