This morning, I woke up irrationally angry. It was 5:45am. And my three year old was screaming and crying and throwing his body around and yelling, “I WANT TO WAKE UP! I WANT TO WAKE UP!” because I’d stupidly told him to go back to bed. Did I mention it was 5:45am? (Better than 5, but still…)
He clearly wasn’t going back to bed. So, I sort of yelled a bit myself. “EITHER STOP CRYING OR GO BACK TO SLEEP!” As if I were offering him actual options, right? I mean, screaming and crying is way more fun than sleeping.
Who wouldn’t want to jump out of bed at the ass crack of dawn on a day they could conceivably sleep until noon?
Oh, wait. Kids don’t learn that til college or something.
I was so irrationally angry about waking up early to the sound of my child’s crazed tantrumming, that after yelling that ridiculous ultimatum, I actually punched a door. With my fist.
Be afraid, people. Be very afraid. This is what happens to me when I don’t get my required 8+ hours of sleep a night.
For like 6 years straight.
I wish I were one of those psycho-geniuses who operate optimally on 4 hours of sleep. (Yeah, I’m totally calling Thomas Edison a psycho-genius. You wanna piece of me?) But, alas. I’m not. And going to bed at 9pm seems, well, scandalous, when there’s a perfectly good Twilight book taunting me from the bedside table.
Don’t worry. My three year wasn’t freaked out in the least. He laughed at me, in fact. Yes, my punch was that inadequate that it made a three year old laugh. This experience taught me that I could not possibly defend myself against a bad guy if the need arose. On the flip side, my hand is totally ok.
Admittedly, punching doors before sunrise seems like a warning sign. Of something. I’m not sure what. I let you know more after I sleep on it.
At some point.