Dear daughter,
This morning I told you I don’t like you. I think I added the words “right now” at the end of the sentence. You wouldn’t have heard that. All you would have heard is that your mother doesn’t like you. It’s true, you were acting particularly difficult. In that moment I probably didn’t like who you were being but those words should not have come out of my mouth.
I apologised shortly afterwards and told you I am tired. I explained I should not have said those things and I love you very much. You nodded in agreement but I knew the damage was done. Words said in frustration and out of weariness from sleep deprivation are still words nonetheless. They can’t be taken back.
I’m evil when I’m tired. Exhaustion hangs over me like a dark, ominous cloud. It only takes the smallest provocation for me to transform from Jekyll to Hyde. Try as I might to overcome the tolls of sleep deprivation, it is stronger than me. It is more powerful than my will to be a good person, a good mother.
There is someone inside me who I never met until I had children. She is my evil twin who is awakened only by debilitating tiredness, incessant nagging and repeated disregard toward reasonable requests. She has a booming voice much like that of the Devil and she can clench her jaw so hard I’m surprised she hasn’t yet shattered every tooth in her mouth. I don’t like her. I wish we had never met. If you would all just learn to sleep when normal people sleep, I could bid her farewell forever.
I’m told it would take a few weeks of undisturbed sleep to repay my sleep debt. I long for the day I might function as a normal human being once more. Instead, your continued night-wakings drain me to the point where I lose motivation for the day ahead…for life.
Night, after night, we play musical beds. Your dad and I try to keep you all in your own rooms. Yet, by morning, we somehow find ourselves scattered around the house like displaced persons seeking refuge from sleeplessness. I manage to eek out a few hours between calls from your sisters and the dog regularly barking the entire household awake.
In fairness, my dear daughter, you are actually a good sleeper. It seems unfair you bore the brunt of my frustration this morning when you give the least trouble at night. Unfortunately, you tend to push my buttons during the day and that is when I am presently least tolerant.
It’s no secret, I never intended on having three children in such close succession. There is a reason many people leave bigger age gaps when growing their family. It would take a saint to endure five consecutive years of sleep deprivation and stay mentally well-balanced and cheery. I am at my limit.
During those unicorn seasons, when you all sleep soundly in your own beds all night, I dust off the Supermum cape and whizz around the house in a flurry of productivity. I pre-prep meals, plan stimulating activities, spend evenings thinking of ways to enhance your learning through play. But even superheroes need sleep or else their powers diminish with each night of restlessness.
So, my heartfelt appeal to you and your siblings is to PLEASE, PLEASE learn to sleep when night falls. And when the birds start chirping and Mr Sun is smiling down on us, I will be much happier to see you and enjoy our days together. If you are unable to grant my request immediately, please understand I am not myself. I don’t like who I am right now. Forgive me.
Love,
Mum
