I was on Pinterest last night searching for “kid-friendly, healthy, recipes for princely toddlers that aren’t a healthy version of chicken fingers.” (Seriously, pinners, there are other foods out there besides CHICKEN FINGERS. Brooks won’t eat them . I think it’s the name. Like, what about eating a chicken’s finger is appealing?)
Plus, my family is a bit turned off by chicken these days (more to come.)
Anyway, I came across a board I started about five years ago titled, “Lamboy Luxuries.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I saw it. According to the board, the things my five years-ago-self considered luxuries were (in no particular order)
- Traveling to Exotic Places
- Alcoholic drink recipes that contained booze that cost over $10 a handle
- Diamonds
- Designer duds
- Romantic Weekend Getaways
I was amazed how this list seemed like it was created in another time in a universe far, far, away from my current situation. As I stared at the screen, calculating how much time I had before Franco woke up for his next feeding and Brooks finished his meeting with the dinosaurs, I thought of my present list of luxuries.
Here is what I could come up with:
- A nice, long, nap
- Sleep for longer than two hours at a time at night
- Sleep in a room with just hubs and me
- Sleep of any kind
- Using the bathroom alone
I never knew how amazing sleep actually was until I had kids. For those of you who know me, you understand how highly I value sleep. But, I never really appreciated it.
Like the old cliché dictates, “ you don’t know what you got til it’s gone.”
I used to take disco naps in college to prepare for a night out.
Slept until at least noon on weekends.
Napped to reward myself for doing a chore.
My sister and I in Mexico begging for a nap with a sculpture clearly made for us. Apparently, vacationing is hard work.
Now, I’m lucky to get two uninterrupted hours of sleep before one of my darling boys needs me to either feed them, change them, or snuggle with them. Forget about my poor husband’s needs.
You thought being pregnant was a sexual buzz kill? Imagine having your 8-week old in a bassinet that conveniently swivels right onto your bed.
Watching your every move.
Oh, hey Franco.
When Brooks was an infant, I followed the strict advice of doctors, family, mommy bloggers, and friends to “sleep when the baby sleeps.” So, while I may have been up all night, I just slept with him during the day. We just rode the same schedule.
Now, Brooks decided he’s over naps. So, when Franco is snoozing, I’m playing trucks. Or dinosaurs. Or running around outside.
Sleep is not something my almost 3-year old considers a luxury.
Brooks and Franco in dino-land
I thought I was getting used to the new normal of constant dreary-ness and looking like the walking dead. I was actually starting to mentally pat myself on the back for functioning at such a high level while remaining relatively pleasant.
Until…..
Did you ever play chicken when you were younger?
I feel like that’s what I’m playing with my brain cells on a daily basis.
Some days I win. Most days, I nearly get hit. A few days ago I got completely run over. The chicken won.
Let me explain.
My husband and I had dinner plans for his birthday. It was the first time we were leaving the babies alone since Franco was born and forgot how crazy it is to prepare for a night out with a newborn.
My sister arrived a little early to babysit so I quickly ran to the grocery store so she and her boyfriend would have something edible to snack on while sitting the boys.
With less than an hour to spare until we had to leave, I stampeded into the house with the groceries and asked hubs to unload them while I showered.
That was Friday. Fast forward to Tuesday.
In an attempt to start losing this baby weight I packed on, I bought a family pack of chicken during the speedy store trip so we could have grilled chicken and salad for lunch throughout the week. Hubs got home a little early from work on Tuesday and offered to grill up the chicken while Brooks and I saved the dinosaurs from the volcano in the sandbox.
“Babe!” he yelled from inside the house, “Are you sure you bought chicken? I don’t see it in here…”
Like any good wife, I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll come get it,” I said confident he just wasn’t looking in the right spot.
“Think you left it in the bagging area again?” he questioned cautiously.
“Maybe….” I said rubbing my eyes in hopes it would awaken my brain.
“Oh, no.”
I ran out to my car and saw what I feared. The family pack of chicken was sitting in the backseat, where it had been cooking in the blazing sun against my black interior for the past 4 days. (I don’t get out much.)
Ugh.
Like it usually does when I mess up, my brain quickly flashed through the trifecta of instances that resulted in this mistake.
- I had to put groceries all over the car because my trunk was packed with two strollers and a diaper bag from an outing the week before.
- I was rushing when carrying in the bags.
- Hubby unloaded so I didn’t realize the chicken was missing.
- I WAS RUNNING ON 2 HOURS OF SLEEP.
Words cannot fully describe the smell this chicken left in my car. My first thought was that this must have been the smell Henry encountered in Goodfellas when they dig up Billy Batts.
I walked inside and I guess hubs could tell by the look on my face that the chicken had been found.
Sure, he wasn’t whisking me away to some deserted island or showering me with diamonds but the fact that he went right outside and started cleaning the car out while I ordered pizza was about the most romantic thing that’s happened to me since we had Brooks.
This isn’t helping.
I wish I could tell you that the chicken incident was my wakeup call, (pun intended) but I’ve since put Parmesan cheese in plate cabinet, ate popcorn and Twizzlers for lunch for four days straight, and used shower gel as shampoo.
Typically, I end this blog with an epiphany of the lesson I learned with an action plan to fix the problem.
But, there is no end in sight to my lack of sleep for the next 20 years or so..
And, believe it or not, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
That face though!
But, I still came to a realization.
I owe a monumental apology to all the moms and dads who I insulted with my incessant whining about lack of sleep before I had kids.
Thank you for not punching me in the face when I answered your, “I’m sooooo tired” with “Me too.”
I had no idea.
Lesson #7: Sleep is life’s greatest luxury.
Noted.
Noted. 