I am exactly two months postpartum with baby #3 which means my life right now mostly revolves around keeping alive/parenting/shooshing/chauffeuring/bum wiping a newborn, two and a half year old and a five year old (who most of the time wipes her own bum but with mixed results). Not surprisingly, at least once every day I am asked (obviously not by my children because they don’t care), “Are you tired? You must be so tired!”
Can you hear my beleaguered sigh through the world wide webs?
What is this tired you speak of? Is tired when you don’t get a lot of sleep ONE night and the next day you are feeling a little off so you just go to bed earlier? Is tired when you need to have a quick nap and then you feel refreshed again? Is tired when you order a Venti coffee at Starbucks and are back to 100%?
F*ck no, I’m not tired. At this point, I might give one of my children to be just “tired”. Tired sounds fantastic. Tired would be a vacation.
What I am is exhausted to the point of delirium and random bouts of sobbing on a good day, in a waking coma on a not so good day, and a zombie from ” The Walking Dead” (with less decay or half eaten face, but similarly unkempt appearance) on a bad day. I exist in a place where an IV of Sudafed and Red Bull wouldn’t make a dent.
Just today my exhaustion resulted in:
- Walking into a wall because I forgot to turn in time
- Spending five minutes tying my shoes before realizing that I didn’t know why I was putting my shoes on or where I was going
- Losing my iPhone, driver’s license and drycleaning all at separate times
- Sleeping so hard during a 30 minute nap that I woke myself with my own snoring only to find my face soaked by the drool which had pooled on my pillow and my two year old telling me I had spit up like the baby
I also located a jug of milk in my bathroom with zero clue as to how it got there- or why I had brought a jug of milk into the bathroom in the first place which is probably the more important question.
I realize that one day I won’t be exhausted anymore. I will move to just being tired. And then I won’t be tired anymore, but I will move to being sad. Because if I’m not exhausted and I’m not tired, it means they don’t need me quite as much. So for now I will continue in my waking coma wandering aimlessly into walls some days- I will be grateful that my children are still at an age when they need me most of all- and I will try to only wear shoes without laces.