Every night is a battle in this house. My family doesn’t argue over bed times, though there is the occasional argument over tooth-brushing and the choice in bed time stories. The real battle begins once the two littlest family members are safely tucked in their beds. It’s the battle between me and my stupid eyelids. I dare even call it EPIC, because it’s every single night, and while I fight hard, the battle only seems to get tougher, and I’m on the losing side.
I kiss the kids goodnight, walk downstairs, pop the TV on and get comfortable – excited and ready for programs I actually want to watch and can do so without interruption. No slap fights, no tattling, no whines, screams, or babbling about random bullshit that has nothing do with anything but can’t POSSIBLY wait until a commercial. I look forward to this time. It gets me through the shenanigans of the day! But, that’s where the trouble begins.
It would appear that the moment my ass hits the couch, my eyelids want to close. That is ALL they want, and I am nearly helpless against them. I can’t even get an hour into one of my favorite shows before I find my eyelids beginning to droop and I’m snapping my head back into upright position. That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is that all of this happens with a spectator: my husband. I see the side-glances, and hear the deep-sighs. “Do you want me to stop it(the tv)?” My eyes spring open. “NO! I’M AWAKE!” and the battle begins again, complete with sighs, and side glances.
“Are you really that tired?”
Yes, the man who falls a sleep on the couch while the sun is still up every weekend wants to question why I’m dozing off once it’s actually down and dark out.
AM I really that tired? Well, let’s see…
Those precious children that just went to bed without a fight? Well, I grew those little shits from top to bottom- no I wasn’t there LITERALLY attaching their limbs, don’t be ridiculous, but I grew them. I dealt with their incessant hiccups and elbows and karate chops in my uterus and then I propelled them from my vag( NEED I REMIND YOU- THAT ISN’T EASY) and ever since, I have spent all day every day chasing those shits around. Even when they’re asleep, I’m still on-call. That on top with the feeding and the bathing and the caring and the listening and the scolding and the loving and the worrying and all the things that come with life and being an adult and parenthood and responsibility. YEAH, I’M TIRED. WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED??
I’m not a spring chicken. The fact that I even used the term “spring chicken” should prove that I am not one, and I don’t even know what the fuck a spring chicken is but what I’m saying is that I’M OLD, AND I’M TIRED, AND STOP LOOKING AT ME FUNNY WHEN I DOZE OFF, ‘CAUSE YOUR ASS IS OLD, TOO!
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.
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