And people without babies.
And most certainly is not for those who are carrying them. In their ever growing bellies. Forced to sleep with extra pillows that you physically wake-up enough to flip with you throughout the night and place in that perfectly strategic position just under the side of your belly. So you don’t wince in actual pain for the weight of your growing uterus. All while you slumber. Or try to, anyway.
I’m serious. I’ve had it easy since E was about 6 months old. He’s been a pretty great sleeper since then. Those first months were rough, though. I can’t lie. I remember thinking I would Never. Sleep. Again. But then one day I did. And it’s been nice. Until I got pregnant.
Yep, a really good night’s sleep has evaded me since I got knocked-up. In fact, that’s the reason I took a pregnancy test in the first place. I wasn’t clued in by nausea or missing a visit from Aunt Flo. Nope. I kept getting up in the night to pee. That’s when it hit me. That’s when I woke up one day and took a test. And I passed.
I KNEW IT.
And the incessant nightly potty interruptions haven’t stopped since. And to make matters worse, the nightmares have returned.
I had several of these at the beginning of this pregnancy, but I blamed it on medication I was taking before bed. I stopped taking it and the
dreams nightmares ceased. But last night, they returned. They are vivid. And awful. Like I’m running for my life and trying to escape from some villain trying to kill me, terrorific movies playing in my subconcious with me in the starring role, awful. Unlike Netflix, I don’t want this subscription. I want to cancel. Can somebody hook that up for me please? Thanks.
I didn’t have these with Eli. Thank goodness.
So I guess the only consolation for my incredibly shrinking bladder, is that the potty breaks at least wake me up and I escape whatever terror I’m fleeing. So there’s that.
The only way I can go back to sleep is to turn on my iPod and have some music going in the background. Just loud enough to break through my sub conscience and give it something else to do. Besides sending me back into my terror.
Here’s the weird thing. Last night’s villain was Gordon Ramsay. You know, the Hell’s Kitchen chef? Talk about strange.
When I went back to sleep after my potty break and musical intervention, I dreamed that I went to the doctor and it was Steve Carell. You know, from The Office? Yeah, he told me I was having a boy. After he gave me an unconventional “exam”. (No, dirty minds, not like that). It was just weird. But at least he was funny. Not scary.
Of course, we should find out Wednesday if he was right and whether I am having a boy or a girl. So we’ll see. For now, I’m hoping, praying for no more nightmares and sweet dreams. You know, of butterflies and rainbows and gumdrops and unicorns. Or something a little less frightening, at least. 🙂
And I’ll hopefully get some sleep. I could really use it.