It was a Monday morning after an exhausting weekend. I looked down and saw my gas light lite up like a Christmas tree. Awesome. I was on my way to drop the kids at school and as usual we were running late. I haven’t been on time for anything in the past ten years. I honestly can’t remember an event where I was first to arrive. I pulled into the gas station and jumped out of the car to fill up the Hot Mom Machine. After I swiped my credit card, it asked me a very simple question. “Please enter zip code” I sat there for 30 seconds frozen with fear. I was suffering from a case of excessively early Alzheimer’s. I had no freaking clue what my zip code was. I mean, I had lived in the same town my entire life. I began to recite my address and still to no avail. What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I remember my zip code? I looked into the van and I saw the culprits. Three small brain-washers, sitting with lunch boxes and backpacks in their laps. Smiling at me as though they knew they had stolen the last of my brain cells. Quietly celebrating the theft of my sanity.
Finally, after five minutes of brain cell hide and seek it came to me and I entered the numbers. I stood there in utter disbelief. What was happening to me? Why was it so hard to complete daily tasks that shouldn’t take even an ounce of brain power? I got back into the Mini-van and turned on the radio. “Mom, put on what does the Fox Say.” “No, I cannot listen to that song one more time. We all know what the fox is going to say. He says the same thing every time we listen to the song.” Those Swedish sons of Bitches have made my radio life a living hell for over a year now. Damn geniuses.
I pulled into the drop off-line and parked. Out go two out of the three master minds and I was on my way with the third. After everyone was safely at school I began my trek home to perform the tasks ahead of me. My mind was still wondering where the zip had disappeared to. As I pulled into my driveway it hit me. I have hit rock bottom of sleep deprivation. I can’t remember the last time I had eight hours of consecutive sleep.
It has been a decade since I went to bed and woke up refreshed and ready to conquer the day. I sat sad and still for a moment. I knew why I hadn’t slept in years. I can’t solely blame the poop machines, but they are a big part of it. Three kids in your queen size bed is a math problem that cannot be solved. One Miniature schnauzer and a husband that snores adds to the equation. Shopping lists that run through your mind at 2:30 A.M, and getting up to pee at least once will demolish any respite. These are common problems of any mother, but it leads me to a very interesting question. What could I do if I had 8 consecutive hours of sleep?
This was a very fascinating thought. Would it be possible to have every load of laundry done? Would dirty dishes in the sink be a thing of the past? Would I be P.T.O. President of my kid’s school? No, forget that! I would be President of the United States. Watch out Obama.! With 8 hours of consecutive sleep I would rule over the land. I would be unstoppable. Just think. It would be amazing. I could sit in that Oval office ordering around my constituents’, demanding change. Passing laws left and right stating that Fathers are required to get up in the middle of the night and change diapers and get the 19th glass of water. Perhaps I have watched too many House of Cards episodes. No, I don’t think I will enter a life of politics, but I will fantasize about those precious hours of sleep that evade me.
In reality I have no idea what my day would look like with 8 hours of sleep under my belt. I am not sure once you become a parent that it is even possible. I do know that at the end of the day I am the good kind of tired. The kind of tired that comes from productivity and a sense of accomplishment. But you better bet your sweet ass that when my kids are grown and gone I will be chewing Ambien like Tic Tacs and sleeping like a baby.