I recently found your blog. I love your blog and read it all the time! Anwyay, you mention that you almost lost it due to sleep deprevation because your son Alex never slept. I felt like I almost lost it this week. I was not sure if I was depressed or sleep deprived. How could you tell the difference between needing medication or needing a good night’s sleep?
One of the things that got me through the intolerable first year that was Alex’s life was remembering hearing that they used sleep deprivation as torture for POW’s in prisons. They’d let the prisoners go to sleep only to wake them up just as they drifted off to the land of nod, which, coincidentally, was EXACTLY what Alex did.
Every night for nearly a year straight.
(I also remember hearing that they used Britney Spears songs as torture, which I listen to voluntarily, but this is neither here nor there) (hey, you, laughing at me, BITE ME)(no, not you, Sleepy, I know you’re too tired to laugh)
By the end of that year, I will tell you now in a moment of uncharacteristic honesty, I nearly killed myself. I’m not saying this because I’m trying to be coy or tragically glib, or funny or cute or any other thing you can associate with that statement.
I’m saying it because I was so trapped by my life that I saw no other way out. I fantasized about killing myself.
With chronic sleep deprivation, the line between needing medication and needing a good nights sleep blurs very easily and getting meds for the wicked case of post-partum depression I was suffering from (Alex was a HORRIBLE, AWFUL baby. String me up from the rafters by my toenails for saying that motherhood was anything less than the best! thing! ever! but he was).
I urge you, my friend, to please talk to your doctor. If you feel like you’re losing it, it’s best that you two discuss it. Sleep deprivation is a motherfucker and trust me, even now, it plays with my emotions when I’ve not slept well.
I got help and I let Alex cry it out because you know what? No matter what, sacrificing my own life for my child’s temporary happiness really isn’t fair. Any way you cut it up, a dead mom doesn’t make anyone happy. Even the most attachment-y of the attachment parents can’t fault you there.
If they do, send them to me. I have a foot I’d like to connect with their ass.
Please, talk to your doctor. PLEASE.
Dear Aunt Becky;
Do I have to apologize after every hormone indunced mood swing outburst including the ones that don’t involve any physical threats?
Well, now, see I hail from the Midwest, and here, land of the Pillsbury Dough-Boy and the Pot Pie, we’re apologetic to a fault here. It’s obnoxious how apologetic we are. I almost want to apologize for it.
Let me give you an example.
Why don’t you step on my foot at the grocery store, okay? And watch ME fall all over my asshole self apologizing to you. It’s absurd. If it’s another Midwesterner, it’ll take twenty minutes, the two of us standing there going back and forth like a couple of old people,
“No, I’M sorry!!”
“No, see, it’s MY fault. I’m the one who clearly had the audacity to have the misfortune to have a foot in YOUR way.”
It’s fucking bullshit. I know.
Long story short: yeah, I’d apologize. Unless the motherfucker really deserved it. Then I would revel in my good fortune at being able to site premenstrual psychosis and milk it for all it’s worth.
Orange Flavored Hostess cupcakes??
I can only presume that my friend is both shocked and thrilled to find another lover of Orange Flavored Hostess Cupcakes, as we both know that I happen to consider them a Dream Food. My friend is aware, no doubt, as this has made my list of 100 boring ass things about me (see sidebar, if you have no idea what I’m talking about)(I’d link, but that seems to just give you guys dead links), coming in at #4:
4. I think Orange Flavored Hostess cupcakes are the best food in the world.
So, my new found friend, obvious Foodie and connoisseur of all things Plastic-Tasting And Dyed Orange, I’m thinking that you and I should form a Secret Society. Because there are not too many of us out there. Certainly, the people who prefer the CHOCOLATE version of this tasty treat are a dime a fucking dozen, but you and I, well, we’re in a league of our own.
Perhaps we can come up with a whimsical name like Secret Society Of People Who Love Hostess Orange Flavored Cupcakes and have meetings where we serve our delicious treats on sterling silver platters and write odes to our favorite snack foods in leather bound notebooks. We’d, of course, have to do it with fountain ink pens because, well, if one is writing an ode, it should be in fountain ink, don’t you agree, oh, wise friend of mine?
Of course you agree.
(note to self: buy fountain ink pen to write odes to Hostess Orange Flavored Cupcakes with new Best Friend and Secret Society Member).
Oh, this Secret Society is going to be delicious fun, my friend. I can hardly wait for our first meeting! Why, I think we should kick it off with a rousing reading of the nutritional facts followed by maybe an impassioned dialogue of how it makes us feel to know that we cannot buy our treats at any store, but must resort to gas stations! Like commoners! THE SHAME OF IT ALL!!
Well, I can hardly wait to have our first meeting and exchanging of the keys. Trust me when I say that the honor is truly all mine.
As always, questions may be submitted to Ask Aunt Becky through the link on the sidebar. Feel free to add your comments below, yo.
And, thank you genuinely to everyone who has helped me with voting for Mimi and my blog and has been graciously spreading the word. If you haven’t voted, and you want to, the links are on my sidebar.
I owe you. I mean that. Aunt Becky has got your back. I know you have mine.