Tuesday Tiredness

I am so over blogging about CSG; I am tired, tired, tired of totally obsessing about this person's presence in my life, however obvious and compelling a presence as he may be. So for today, I am going to bitch and complain about something entirely different and new.

This is why I am tired today: I am way too old to be the mother of a toddler. Just-way. Last night, once I finally got all of the older kids settled and reassured, after checking the windows and doors three times at their request, after making sure all our defensive measures were in place, after everyone (myself included;four kids=small, weak bladder) went to the bathroom and got our drinks, I was just getting into a good sleep when Owen woke up. He was fussy and feverish, so I comforted him and gave him a drink and some Motrin, and got him all settled again...only to be jerked out of my deepening doze by screams. Not just fusses but out and out screams. Remember that small bladder? I just very nearly wet myself.

A couple of days ago, J. and I found a really cute purse that looks like a spider. Got it for Owen (in which to put his cars and the puzzle pieces he likes and the wing off a plastic airplane that he likes to carry around. And it doesn't LOOK like a purse!), and he has been sleeping with it but for some reason last night it scared the shit out of him. When I went into his room he was hitting it and screaming and trying to get as far away from it as possible. I picked him up and he was burning up (and it took forever for the Motrin to kick in, long enough that I had to give him Tylenol as well before it went away) and shaking, so I got a wet washcloth and took him to bed with me in Eli's bed. The poor kid was, I think, hallucinating, because he was acting like a crack head, picking imaginary things off of the bedspread. And then just as he would start to fall asleep again, something would startle him and he would scream. At one point, he even crawled away from his beloved blanket in fear. He ended up sleeping across both pillows, huddled into a ball so as not to touch the bedspread. Why he would suddenly react this way, I don't know.

I looked at the clock the first time at about two, after we had already been fighting this for over an hour, and thought to myself,"Okay, if he falls asleep right now I can get four hours of good sleep." Then at three, it was down to three hours, and so on. In the meantime, he was restless and fussy and still burning up, until finally, at just shy of five, he fell asleep. So I guess I got one good hour of sleep, if you can call it that.

These are the days when I start to feel resentful of this single-parenthood status. You all know I go in cycles, and this is one of them. I am tired; beyond tired. two weeks of broken sleep at best, averaging about 4 hours a night, and now this. I am close to tears because I am so tired, and I know that I still have half the day and the evening to get through. There is dinner to cook, chores to do, at some point we have to start packing, and of course there are baths to be given and books to be read. We will start to go to bed at 10:00, and by time everyone is settled and reassured, it will be at least 11:00 or later. I am glad that the kids are so reassured by my presence, but I resent the lack of back-up; I don't have anyone to do for me the locking up and the prayers and the getting up at night.

I know I am whining; I am tired, this stupid anti-smoking thing really, really sucks (perhaps under the circumstances this isn't really a good time to quit!), I don't function well with no sleep, and I would perform amazing, inventive sexual favors for the first person who would offer to come stay for just one night and let me get a full night's sleep.