Monday, September 14, 2009

Zombie Mom

I'm sure all none of you are wondering why I chose Zombie Mom as my moniker.  When you see my blue hair, piercings and tattoos, it probably gets assumed that I love horror movies, and that's where it came from.  I actually hate horror movies because they scare me!  I call myself Zombie Mom because more often than not, I'm so tired I look like the walking dead.

Take today for example.  Lovely Miss E usually takes her last feeding around 11pm.  Which isn't all that bad, since she's been sleeping until almost 4am, allowing me a nearly 5 hour chunk of sleep.  Except this morning she decided she wanted to cluster feed starting at 2:30am.  That means every time I'd feed her, she'd eat until she fell asleep.  Then as soon as I took her off the boob, she'd wake right back up, hungry again.  She did this over and over and over again until almost 6am.  Then she pooped.  So even though I finally got her to sleep, I had to wake her up again to change her. 

After I changed her, I knew A was going to wake up at any moment, so I was never able to fall back asleep again.  Of course this would be one of the rare mornings A decided to sleep until 7 instead of 6:30.  Great.

On mornings like these, I look forward to around 9am, when A goes down for his morning nap, and I can usually get E to sleep as well, allowing me to sneak in a short nap, too.  Usually.  This morning however, A and E decided to band together to make sure I was as zombified as possible.  E fed and fell asleep at about 8:30am, so I crossed my fingers she'd stay asleep for a few hours.  I put A down for his nap at 9:30, which he decided to turn into play time.  He played for an entire hour in his crib.  Not a single whine or request to get out.  I couldn't fall asleep though, because I know if I ever did, that would be the moment he'd plummet head first out of his crib, then run around the house like a bull in a china shop, wreaking havoc on anything and everything he could get his hands on.

Finally at around 10:30 he falls asleep.  Which immediately sets of the invisible alarm in E's head to wake up:  "Must... Not... Let... Mother... Sleep..."  So she wakes up, and I give up on any hope of sleep for another 13 hours.  Now that I'm awake of course, I go into the living room and put her in her swing, and she falls right asleep.  But I'm too awake to try going back to sleep.


So here I sit, dark purple bags under my eyes, hair like a rats nest, looking like the undead.  Good thing makeup has come a long way, or else people would start chainsawing my head off when I went out in public!


"The hand that rocks the cradle usually is attached to someone who isn't getting enough sleep." - John Fiebig

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