I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The clock ticked as the raindrops fell, I wondered aloud if I would ever get to sleep. The room was too hot. My feet too cold. I had charted My Love's sleep cycles at least twice through. I thought I had heard a faint cry - a dream perhaps? My ears kept listening. Words and actions jumbled together creating a delusional, fitful state. I had to pee. Back in bed, pillow fluffed, covers arranged, I closed my eyes and tried to feel the sleep. The clocked ticked and the raindrops fell. My ears were the first to wake. My feet were second. My mouth third. "$&^#*@&^!," I whispered (intentionally loud enough to wake my slumbering Love). Will I ever get any sleep? The cries took me down the hall into a bedroom that seemed too dark, too hot. I shuffled around to find my bundle of joy. Did you have a bad dream? Do you have to pee? Do you want to listen to your music? I cries stopped as fast as they started and I was left standing over a dozing child.

Back in bed I made it known that I had not slept a wink. My Love profusely informed me that I was wrong and that I had been keeping him awake with my snores. True anger swept over my entire being. The clock ticked and the rain finally stopped. My mind bent itself around the smell of coffee. At least I had coffee. I charted a few more of My Love's sleep cycles and then I was falling, falling, falling fast asleep. The dawn came to early when I was honestly informed that it was my turn to go get our wonderful bundle of joy. Remembering that I had been out running the morning prior, I tried to hold my tongue (so hard for me between the hours of 11pm and 6am) as I begrudgingly walked down the hall into our daughter's bedroom.

"Hi, Mom. Do you want to play?"
"Yes, I want to play."

The clock ticked, the rain started to fall  and we played until the rest of the house woke.  My eyes were heavy when I finally served breakfast. I'll sleep when I'm dead, I thought. In the meantime, a hot shower, a hug and a few cups of coffee will probably do the trick. Thankfully My Love knows how to forgive and I know how to forget so we move on - until the next night. ***



***I'm not an insomniac. I really sleep quite well. It's when sleep can't seem to find me that I get pretty irritated. Be glad you are not My Love.