Bring Me A Dream…

I workout.  I eat (mostly) right.  I slather on my sunblock, buckle my seatbelt, and take the occasional mental health day far from people under voting age.  I’m an all-around, even keel kinda FitGal. 

Except for sleeping.

I should be doing it right now.  Yes, I am perfectly aware that it is bright and sunshiny and lunchtime.  It’s also the babe’s naptime; we were at HersheyPark all day yesterday; we did not arrive home until after midnight and I did not crash into slumber until after 2 a.m.  Oh – and that precious, darling, oh-so-bushytailed little bundle of JOY was up at 7:30.  It sucked, but I was already planning on catching up at naptime.

So what the hell is my problem, you ask?  I don’t even freakin’ know.  I have been drooling over this naptime all morning.  Chores have gotten about as much attention as the latest rerun of Yes, Dear and I even bypassed my usual morning coffee for fear the caffeine would hinder my shut-eye abilities.  I fed one kid Kashi GoLean with rice milk and the other Jolly Ranchers.  I ate two Doritos and a whole wheat cranberry bagel with peanut butter (so not a good combo).  I was – and still am – exhausted. 

I had it all set…the babe is napping in my bed, because he takes longer naps there.  I’ve got a good five previously viewed episodes of Cajun Justice all queued up, because there’s something about that show that both interests and soothes me.  (Only The Golden Girls and Everybody Loves Raymond can compete for lullabies.)  The iPhone is set to silent and plugged into the dock.  The older monkeys are quietly absorbed in Barbies and Legos.  Just typing this makes my eyelids droop and my mouth drop open in a yawn.

Then I snuggle in next to the babe and my mind says things like, “Hey, did you let the dogs out? How was that workout you didn’t do? Don’t forget – you have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon at an office you’ve never visited, you have to talk all three kids along, and you typically run late. Better not oversleep.”

My mind is a bitch.  I tried reading.  I tried Words With Friends.  I tried imagining doing laundry and the dishes.  (Sometimes, just thinking about the energy required to do household chores has a Benadryl-like effect on my body.)  But my mind won’t quit. 

And – I know I’m not alone here – I am always skimping on the sleep.  There is always one more chore to do, a few more minutes of a rescheduled workout to sweat through, one more chapter to read, one more episode to watch.  It seems women particularly are hardwired to keep pushing through, no matter the detriment to our bodies.  And here’s the breakdown:

Lack of sleep can lead to an increased chance of heart disease/attack/failure, irregular heartbeat, high blood pressure, stroke, and diabetes.  It can slaughter your sex drive, make you look old, and deplete any remaining intelligence your children haven’t already stolen.  Know what else?  Makes you fat. 

So all those late night workouts to make up for the missed morning sessions?  All those extra few moments preparing the next day’s healthy meals traded for a few more moments of sleep?  Gonna be all for naught if you never actually SLEEP.  Plus, think about your eating habits when you’re tired.  Might I remind you of my Dorito and bagel coupling mentioned above?  Point made.

So for the love of all that is Fit and Holy – GET SOME FREAKIN’ SLEEP.  Figure out how to shut that nagging crone up (refraining from making sarcastic remarks about anyone I actually know because of course I’m simply referring to that inner voice…) and start making regular appearances in Dreamland, Neverland, WhereEVERland…Just close your eyes and snore.  Well, maybe not snore because that can be a sign of all sorts of issues, too.  But I’m too tired to write about those right now.

Oh – and might I add that lack of sleep turns this Queen into more of a Wicked Witch?  My family will attest to that.  They’ll attest quickly and adamently and repeatedly.  We have all learned from past tirades and meltdowns – mine, not the children’s – that I must issue the warning of “I am hungry and/or tired” in a relatively calm yet firm tone and that this warning must be immediately followed by everyone kissing my ass and providing me with food and/or a pillow.  Even FitGals run into walls from time to time; the key is allowing yourself to slide back down instead of rallying to climb over.

Trust me.  There will be more walls tomorrow.


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