The power of eight
I had an unfortunate relevation last night.
Darling Husband and I were discussing his erratic work schedule. I was whining about how little I see him, and he explained, “I don’t wake you up when I get home because I know you need your eight hours.”
I froze.
He was totally right.
But my first thought was: “How am I going to survive the all-nighters that will come with le bebe???”
He was totally right.
But my first thought was: “How am I going to survive the all-nighters that will come with le bebe???”
You see, I am the anti-napper.
I have tried it a few times, and I wake up a total Cranky McCrankpants. I also wake up confused. The clock might read 5:39, and I will have no clue if it’s suppertime or very early the next morning. And that really freaks me out!
I have read in my baby book that mothers are supposed to nap whenever their baby is sleeping. But I am more of a habit sleeper. I like to go to bed around the same time every night — between 11 p.m. and midnight — and wake up at the same time every morning — between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m.
This is math even I can do, and it equals a nice, even eight hours. I have just always been this way.
I am kind of afraid of the level of bitchiness that might come with being up all night with a squalling infant. Pacing the floors of our condo. Desperate for sleeeeeeeeep. Remembering the nights of my full, un-interupted eight hours.
Hopefully by the time the babe winds down, I will be so tired that I can nap. I’m sure by then, I won’t care if it’s 5:39 a.m. or p.m., as long as there is a bed and a small window of peace!
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