I’ve decided that James is trying to kill me.
For real.
If you know nothing else about me, know these two things: 1) I have to take happy pills to keep from stepping in front of a speeding bus; and 2) I have to sleep or I turn into a blubbering zombie who cannot function AT ALL.
(Now that I think about it, there’s a number three you should know: I always write the unspeakable, and I don’t care if it offends people- ha ha haaaa!)
But back to the point. There’s a caveat to the second one (or, like, two or three or six of them).
The first being, until Prozac made its grand life-saving appearance into my insane presence, I was a terrible insomniac who couldn’t fall asleep for the majority of the night. The second being that, even with Prozac, I have a lot of trouble sleeping.
For instance, if I have to wake up to pee, or to comfort one of the kids, or do ANYTHING that forces me to use my brain at all, then I usually can’t go back to sleep.
So clearly, being married to the middle-of-the-night-ball-scratcher named James has a few contraindications.
Meaning, I can’t sleep in the same room with him 90% of the time!
Because he’s annoying! Because he’s obnoxious! Because he has an itchy butt crack and balls (by the way- don’t they make like a powder for that or something?)!
But most of all because of this:
He has developed this ridiculously annoying habit of waking up SUPER early, like 4 or 5, sometimes 6 in the morning, and he lays there in bed wiggling. Like, his brain turns on, and even if he’s trying to be still, I can feel the strain of his muscles as he tries to stop himself from picking his nose.
To make matters worse, I am incredibly sensitive to noise and movement and everything else under the sun when I’m asleep. So of course, the second his brain starts to awake from it’s flopping-around slumber, I start to wake up, too.
This morning at about 6 a.m. was one of those such moments. This is after the two times during the night that he woke me up because he decided his knee needed to be wedged into my back.
By the way, we have a king-sized bed, and I sleep on about 1/10 of the right side while he takes up the rest of the thing.
Anyway, then he started to sniffle. Quietly, but still. I could hear the runny snot just trying to ooze its way out of his nostril. After four impeccably spread-out sniffles, I finally growled, “James, get up and blow your nose.”
He answered with a grumpy “Hurmph”, and laid in bed for another irritating 10 minutes without sniffling in which I could feel the bed shake under his strain to not sniffle or scratch his balls.
In the meantime, my brain flipped on and started writing a blog about the event. It took me another 25 minutes to fall back to sleep while my darling husband finally got up, took a shower, made as much noise as humanly possibly getting clothes out of the dresser, and finally left our bedroom. Oh, I was wearing earplugs and could still hear every part of this.
And by the way, yesterday he was whining about how tired he was because he had to get up with April once in the middle of the night.
Seriously? I have ZERO sympathy.
I think today I am going to buy a bed to set up in the dance room, which is on the other end of the house and virtually sound-proof from the bedrooms.
And I’ll set Julie’s potty chair up in there for my middle-of-the-night pee routine.
Current Mood:
Mischievous
Confused