Ingredients for a horrible night's sleep

The following events happened over a nine hour period.

Last night, 11:00PM:  I crawled into bed to do some Sudoku and watch my man, Conan.  Somewhere around John Krasinksi's marionette impression I dozed off, although it was quite endearing.  Mr. Yoy was working late to finish the month of August strong, so I was flying solo.

2AM:  I awake to George Lopez, the lights on, no Mr. Yoy (work sucks), and an urge to use the restroom.  I do have to say, I once had a bladder of steel.  I flew to Europe and didn't use the airplane restroom.  Now that my bladder has been ruined by two pregnancies, if I drink anything past seven at night, I'm guaranteed to be up at least once a night, sometimes twice.

I call Mr. Yoy to remind him to take the trash and recycling out when he gets home.  He is on his way and asks me to wait up for him.

2:15AM: Mr. Yoy arrives home and we recap our evening. He puts some horrible MTV show on the tube.  I try to fall back asleep.

2:40AM: Dang!  I'm hungry.  It's all I can think about.  I slink downstairs and grab a string cheese and jello.  Yum! Back to bed I go.

3:00AM: Mr. Yoy thinks he hears someone stirring.  TUCK ME IN!  TUCK ME IN!

What the hell?  That kid is up?  We both go in there to make sure there isn't some sort of massive catastrophe in his bed.  Everything is dry and where it should be.  We conclude that he must have had a nightmare, which led to a conversation about what his nightmares would be about (another blog topic).  We tuck him back in and return to bed.


Seriously, again?  Mr. Yoy tells me to just bring him in bed with us.  I grab Big E.  Once we are all settled into bed we can clearly hear Big E's stomach growling.  Like mother, like son.  I run downstairs, again, and get him a Gogurt.  He downs it in bed and then I put him back in his own crib.


Ugh, this is worse than when I was nursing.  I've now been awake for two hours and I'm starting to get that panicky feeling you get when you know you need to sleep and you cannot.  I calculate how many hours I have until I have to get up in the morning and add it to the few hours I had before my bathroom break.  Six hours is not enough for Mrs. Yoy.

It was time to lay down the law.  I went in there and used all my standard threats.  I hastily tucked him in and stormed out.

4:30AM:  Now I'm just lying awake listening.  I feel like I haven't heard the last from him.  Why can't I fall asleep? I look over at Mr. Yoy.  He is snoring away. I want to suffocate him with one of our many fancy bed pillows. I refrain.


Instead of Mrs. Yoy, Satan ran into Big E's room and went crazy.  It was a combo of frustration and exhaustion.  I'm not even sure what I said to him, but I am happy to report that it was my final trip into his room.

8:00AM:  Whoa!  I slept in.  Not a peep from Big E yet. On the other hand, Little E has now been in his crib about 14 hours and I'm sure is thinking:

What in the world happened to my parents?

I'm just adding these hours of sleep deprivation to the accumulated deficit I've been working on since 2008.

When Little E leaves for college in 2028, I'm going to take the greatest nap ever.

Until then, I sustain myself on gallons and gallons of Coke Zero.
Eight hours?  What's that like?


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