Happy Saturday evening, everyone. Ready for a sleepy rant-y type of post, fueled by one too many bad nights’ sleep? Sure you are!
It’s been a week since the time change, and sleep has been awful.
I have a very regimented bedtime of 11 p.m., and have for months now. After the kids are in bed, I’ve nursed C, and I’ve gone back into D’s room a few times to deal with bloodcurdling shrieks — a hysterical mash-up of “Tuck back innnnn!” and “More Jingle Belllllllls!” and “Go poooo? Go peeeeeeee, Mama!” — I do any final tidying up, watch one recorded show in peace, wash my face and brush my teeth, read, and turn out the lights at 11. Simple but fulfilling.
(On Darling Husband’s nights off, we watch a show or two together, or play a game, but I’m still pretty much in bed by 11.)
Thanks to the time change, I’m no longer feeling sleepy by 11, because it feels like 10. This could very well by psychological, because maybe it’s actually very easy for adults to adjust to time changes? Regardless, I’m finding myself tossing and turning — and missing an hour of much-needed sleeeeeep. I’m also finding it harder than usual to get up in the morning. Ugh.
The kids don’t seem too affected by the time change, BUT their sleep has not been great this week. C has been waking up multiple times a night — teething? Who knows? — and generally being EXTREMELY CRANKY during our waking hours, which is even more exhausting to deal with because I’m extra tired. Am I just projecting, or are girls really crankier than boys? I swear, this girl has ATTITUDE.
Anddddd D has been having regular bouts of sleepwalking. Yup, you read that right — sleepwalking! I always thought that meant wandering through the house with outstretched arms like a mummy, but apparently it also lends itself to two-year-olds.
Darling Husband has yet to witness D’s sleepwalking, because it’s been happening on nights when he works, and he says he’s glad to miss it. It is pretty creepy, I’ll admit it.
He thuds into his bedroom door and then kind of whimpers against it. I go in, and I can tell he’s sleepwalking — and not just doing his usual “Tuck me back innnnnn!” routine — because he’s not responsive. He is usually sitting on the floor by his door, staring off into space. I whisper to him and ask if he needs to be tucked back in, and he doesn’t respond. I pick him up and he rests his head on my shoulder, but he doesn’t say a word while I carry him back to bed and tuck him in. He closes his eyes and doesn’t even ask for Jingle Bells. It’s eerie.
It’s a quick process, but it seems to happen about two hours after I get to sleep — and 1-2 hours before C wakes up wanting to be nursed — so it kind of kills my REM or whatever kind of healing sleep I should be getting. Coupled with the fact that he may also wake up an hour after C is back in bed, crying that he needs to potty, and it’s a recipe for a tiring morning.
As tired as I am these days, I know this isn’t going to last forever. I’ll probably only be nursing for a few more months. D will probably outgrow his sleepwalking — according to the toddler sleepwalking websites I’ve been reading. Darling Husband won’t always work the back shift, which puts me alone at the realm of The S.S. Sleep Problems.
And yes, it is pretty funny when I almost jump out of bed in terror because I’ve heard Scout, The Talking Puppy, burst into song over the baby monitor at 2 a.m.
Enough blogging. I’m going to take my own advice and try to get some sleep!