Sleep – that blissful state of peace, relaxation and rejuvenation. A distant, but beautiful memory. Once upon a time I could access this mystical state of existence overnight, relatively undisturbed, waking only to a full bladder or a sleep-talking toddler. I would grumble at being woken prematurely by said toddler early in the morning (and still do, to be truthful), preferring to rouse when my body and mind were fully recharged (a preference, but not a reality). How quickly the bar shifts.
Sleep is golden, delicious and at times elusive. More than two hours of sleep in any one attempt is a special treat, unpredictable by nature, precious and rare. It draws me in, regardless of where I am or what I am doing – I have been known to wake with a snort in the bath, multiple times, and to jerk awake whilst breastfeeding during the middle of the day. I often enter this restful world only to be shaken from it moments later by sounds of a lamb bleating in the field (the newborn).
As a consequence of limited access to sleep, life is a dense fog. I sound, look and function as though I haven’t slept for weeks – dark circles under the eyes (observed and reported by my eight year old nephew to all during a family do), flat hair, croaky voice and an inability to make decisions or even string a sensible phrase together. I am attempting to rest when the infant does, caring far less than previously about doing anything useful with my time. But restful intentions aren’t always rewarded when the baby has a blocked nose and snorts, groans and wakes far too often because of it.
I don’t recall feeling the effects of sleep deprivation like this the first time around. In fact, I became an enthused baker during nap times and a very house proud stay at home mum. Not even a hint of either of those now. Sure, I eat cakes and I stay at home, but there are no muffins in the oven and plenty of dust balls dancing on the surface of the floorboards!
Knowing during pregnancy that this fog is on its way really ought to make you cherish those five, brief, middle of the night toilet stops in the third trimester. Still, if women could truly appreciate the fog that awaits them on the other side of the delivery room, the population may well die off.
