Thursday 29 July 2010


Sleep deprivation is a funny thing. Actually, I take that back, it’s not funny at all whilst one is experiencing it, but the effects can be quite humorous if you choose to look at it that way. Currently I look like a pale-faced zombie that has been without rest, nutrition or reprieve for thousands of years (I don’t think zombies need nutrition…or rest for that matter, but you know what I mean). And the even scarier fact, it has only been 12 days of this new life without sleep. My partner – as he’s younger, prettier and browner than I, isn’t fairing so badly. When I’m awake, which is about 90% of the time, I feel like I’m essentially sleepwalking from location to location. Coupled with that, my eloquence is out the window, completing sentences is a challenge – I can see them in my head, but then what comes out is every other word resulting in a sentence that sounds like a command you give a dog – ‘you water sit?’ In fact, if this blog makes any sort of sense whatsoever, I consider it a major coup.

My family - who has been here visiting - just stares at me and smiles, knowing not to upset the crazy lady who is working on minimal sleep and could blow at any moment. As they’re all women, they’re very good at commiserating and essentially lying to me so that I some how believe this is going to be over shortly. I of course know better having been around them and their kids for a number of years. I am thinking it is better to know now that I will never sleep deeply again – I’m a realist, I can take it. I’m also writing everything down lately as if I have some degenerative mental disease.  Note to the global community, never say to a post natal woman, ‘I told you that, don’t you remember?’ The answer is an unequivocal NO and in the state most women are in post birth, it just sounds patronizing and we will hate you. :-)

Then there are the hormones. Oh such fun it is to be a woman. As if I wasn’t weepy, tempermental and irrational before. My man, thank god, is like a postnatal baby mama whisperer. My entire family at the moment wants to clone him for his utter usefulness and abnormal intuition on how to deal with women – how I got so lucky is beyond me. When he can sense my hormones are on the upsurge and something innocuous has suddenly become the most pressing and distressing thing in the world sending me into a weepy fit of tears (this can be something preposterous like not being able to open the lid of the formula tin. I mean seriously, can we not make this is a bit easier???)  he looks at me with an expression of utter calm, talks in a low, slow voice (I’m thinking they do this with wild animals as well) and then simultaneously texts my sisters with his other hand summoning them with some sort of distress bat signal. He also wakes up at night with me, changes diapers and has developed some new method of burping the child that to my shock works damn well. Knowing how valuable he is to this whole operation (and my overall happiness) I’m considering having his feet cemented to the living room floor. You don’t want to lose things that work in your life. As I said, I’m a realist. 
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