Dear Mr. Sandman, We’re Through.
Dear Mr. Sandman,
Well, you’ve done it again. You’ve managed to elude me for the third night in a row. No, make that the third year in a row. Who do you think you are, anyways? You think you’ve got a monopoly on sleep? Huh? You think I can’t go somewhere else to place my order? Ok, so you kind of do have a tight grip on this whole nighttime gig. But there’s got to be someone else out there, there’s got to be! You don’t own me! We didn’t sign a contract!
Sigh. I guess we did sign a contract. Or at least, we renegotiated. Back in the day, after I got married. You heard my late-night pleas. “Oh please, I really want a baby. Maybe even more than one someday! Please, oh please, I’ll do anything!” You gave me a sinister look and while stroking your pencil-thin mustache, menacingly asked, “Anything?” I was desperate. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me be a mother!” You hastily drew up a new agreement, slid it across the table, and said, “Sign here.” I didn’t read the fine print. I didn’t care at the time. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I wouldn’t change things now, but the world should know what a fraud you are.
Fifty percent. Fifty percent!! That’s how much of my precious sleep you had me sign over. Sleep that I would need to perform my tasks as a mother, as a human being. It’s a cruel joke. One that leaves nobody laughing. I have pleaded with you, cursed you, negotiated with you, offered you something else, anything else in exchange for a few more hours. But you’re a sicko. Not only do you employ my children to carry out the terms of your contract, but you’ve gotten to my pets, too! The dog knows just when to start snoring at the foot of the bed, and the cat, whose meow was barely a whisper, sounds like a roaring lion. Well played.
You’re evil, you know. You’ve laughed while I frantically scavenged crumbs off the floor under you’re table, while you’re enjoying a five course meal overhead. You could at least give me the scraps off your place. Four hours straight? I can handle that. Five hours straight? What a gift that would be! But no, you’ve used one of your wickedest tactics yet during the past several weeks. The teething toddler. And you know what’s really messed up? You actually let me think, for one sweet week, that both my children would start sleeping through the night. Ha! What a joke. A twisted, sick joke. You got my hopes up, only to pop them with your poison dart.
I’ve tried lowering my expectations. I’ve tried learning to appreciate what little sleep I get. And I’ve tried caffeine. OH I’ve tried caffeine. But it’s not enough. Never enough. Always just out of my grasp. Just like you want it. What is wrong with you? I’m tired of trying to find out. I’m reporting you to the Better Business Bureau for fraud. And I won’t be the only one. I’ll tell all my friends. And they’ll tell their friends. We’re coming after you!
Your New Worst Enemy,
A Cranky, Sleep-Deprived Mom
Now, if only we could find your friend Rip Van Winkle. We heard he’s got a few hours of sleep to spare…
Girl, I could have written this. Seriously. I used to want to sleep til 6:30. Now I just pray to sleep Past 5. I try gratitude, acceptance, exercise, meditation. Ugh. I don’t do caffeine but almost everything else. You are not alone.
I endured many years of sleep deprivation and looking back, have no earthly idea how I functioned most of the time. I worked full-time through the infancy and toddlerhood of my oldest two. When they ask me questions about milestones in their early lives, I have very little recollection and unfortunately, didn’t write much down either. At least, you’ll have your writings to spark your memory in the future!
Your conversations with Mr. Sandman are wonderfully creepy. Sleep deprivation can really eat you alive. It’s bad for your health and for your psyche. And then there’s the stress that comes with *knowing* that your health and your spirit are being destroyed by the lack of sleep. Ack.