Ugh! I have all the brain cells it takes to sip coffee and be grumpy this morning. Insomnia is horrible. It would be different if I could sleep once I fall asleep, but no for some reason I get the joy of insomnia plus.
Insomnia plus Fiona waking up. Insomnia plus Fiona having insomnia. Insomnia plus Jeff wanting to stay up late and have “adult” time. I can deal with all of these individually, but seriously? All in one night?
My family hates me.
My body hates me.
Insomnia is trying to kill me.
I swear that I love them, but if I could run away to a magical land of fluffy pillows and fuzzy blankets for the next week I totally would. Sadly Pillowland (TM) does not exist.
If it did, it would be a comfortably cool place, with gentle, dim lighting. Fluffy clouds to walk on. A quiet windy, soothing white-noise. Random floating beds of varying softness, each piled with soft pillows that squish just the right amount. Warm, cuddly blankets that never make you hot, but keep you warm and have just the right amount of weight. Mmmm…
I dream about it. Well, day-dream. Only normal, happy, rested people get to actually dream. You know. People who sleep.
Fiona keeps asking, “You tired, Mama?””
“Yes.” I growl. Thinking, What do you think you little snot, you’re the one who kept waking me up? Do you think that the magic Mommy runs on nothing? No. I need sleep. Leave me alone.
“You frustrated?” She asks sympathetically.
“Yes. Fiona. I’m frustrated.” I agree, feeling caustic.
“You mad?” She seems concerned.
“I”m trying not to be.” I say and I try harder. I remind myself that she’s two, she doesn’t understand, she isn’t trying to torture me.
“You happy?” She adds. I think it’s a suggestion. I think she feels like I can just magically be happy. At a whim. As though this isn’t a combination of frustration and exhaustion.
“I’m trying.” I answer.
She runs over and throws her arms around me and soundly kisses my cheek. “I love you, Mama.”
I hug her tight to me and it does help. It takes some of the edge of my sleep-deprived frustration. “I love you, too, Fiona.”
“Sooooo much!” She smiles at me.
That smile is contagious. It’s pure love. It’s an undeniable joy at just being near me. It’s being loved. Even when I’m grumpy.
I feel myself smile and it’s a tired smile, but it is happy. Compassion works both ways. If you give it, then so will other people. Even little people who wake you up over and over again at night asking to go to the bathroom and to fill up their bottles and to lay down with them. Compassion and love are sometimes all it takes to make a bad start into a better one.
Love makes it possible.