For me, the thin line between contentment & crankiness is linearly correlated with the thin line between sleeping & not-sleeping. The past week, my daughters have tag-teamed my hubs and I, insuring that any wisp of REM sleep was interrupted with a call for water, new covers, a story, or anything at all in between. My youngest, wee V, has been making up for my lost work hours by trying to nurse again at Midnight (ack! ack!)… The horrors of sleep deprivation had been wiped so cleanly from my brain, I’d forgotten how terribly frail mommy’s world view and sauciness can become.
It doesn’t help that I had a horrible dream where a smart and adorably gorgeous twenty-something stole my husband from me. His blithe reply to my dream-state confrontation seemed so real: "You paid no attention to me, so I had no other option." I yelled out his name in my sleep and tossed and turned, waking with a terrible sense of dread and anxiety and crankiness — not the clever sassy kind.. the dreary defeated kind.
Bad dreams and interrupted sleep… a deadly combination.
I feel somewhat comforted by the fact that I kicked that hubs-stealer’s bony little ass, pulled her hair, and banished her from my huge Victorian mansion.
This is one of those days I wish so much that one of my fabulously clever email/blog galpals lived nearby so we could grab a drink and talk about shoes…