Sleep Apnea

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Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am that my wonderful, little princess is already sleeping through the night. They go on and on about how lucky we are and how rested we look. That is usually when I want to punch them in the head.

You see, I haven’t really slept in about 10 months. Throughout the whole pregnancy and after, I’ve had a lot of trouble getting to sleep at night. It drives me absolutely nuts! Especially since this has continued into the present. For example, our nightly schedule is this: Lucy goes down for bed at around 8:30 p.m. I wake her up at 10:30 p.m. for a final feeding, and then I head off to bed between 11 and 11:30. Then I lay in bed until at least 1 a.m. Sometimes I fall asleep, sometimes I don’t. Then, when baby girl wakes up at 6 in the morning, I’m exhausted. Then I usually put her back down at 7 or 7:30 a.m., I go back to sleep until 10. Then I’m up all day and it just keeps going in that never-ending cycle.

I am a person that really likes to get up early and get things done and I REALLY need my rest. I’m beginning to get so frustrated with all of this, and I don’t know what to do because as a nursing mom, I can’t take any sleeping meds. I wish Trent’s sleep schedule could rub off on me. That kid can fall asleep anywhere at any time. Ridiculous. So right now I have finally given up on falling asleep easily and have filled my KU scooner with some Bud Light, hoping it will make me sleepy. Or at least put me in a better mood.

Sick Day

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Last night was another one of those nights. And by “those nights” I mean, up all night, with unmentionable issues. And by unmentionable, I mean, you really don’t want to know. So this morning, after a small freak out involving the doctor I decided to take the day off from work. I hadn’t slept in 36 hours and still felt like crap, so I figured a sick day was a good idea.

I have now slept, gone to the doctor, checked my work emails, talked to my boss, given the dog a bath, and done laundry. AND I’M SO BORED!!!!

These are the days when cable would make a BIG difference.

Well, I’m off to work on our baby budget. Let the good times roll.

What’s in a name

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To quote a buddy from work, “If men knew what a pain in the ass it is to change your name, then maybe they wouldn’t ask why it’s such a big fucking deal to us women.”

Exafuckingactly!!!!

Changing my name was a HUGE decision, a decision that was finally made when I realized the only people in my family that I really admire and are big parts of my life do not have the same last name as me. And I guess Megan Peters doesn’t sound that bad. If I was all in a huff about changing my name in the first place, then maybe I would have stood my ground more, but I really didn’t give to much of a crap. Except that I knew changing it would be the biggest pain in the ass of all time!

Did I mention how much I hate government workers? I hope I don’t get arrested by the FBI now. Hey FBI, I just mean postal workers and secretaries and people at the social security office, OK?! I just love politicians though. Please do not shoot me. Or throw me in prison for a few years with no cause. I do not think my baby would like a CIA secret prison. Not one bit.

Anyway, now I have two bank accounts in two different names, a driver’s license in the current-but-soon-to-be-wrong name, a passport in the wrong name, and I have to change all of my bills. I’m starting to really enjoy the Hits of the 1970s they play when I’m on hold with all of these giant corporations. Jesus, spring for the 1980s set people!

I forgot to mention…

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THE SUNBURN.

The firey, uncomfortable, painful, scary truth of being a redhead (or in this case, a Red Beard) or an albino. If we ever have kids they’re going to be the ones that are allergic to the sun and have to wear special, floppy hats if they dare venture out into the world with the real people. Thank God, if they’re our spawn, they probably will be techno-geeks who would rather live in the Internet world of make-believe anyway.

The sunburn didn’t seem too bad on Sunday. Once again, I was foiled by the tan, summery onlooker saying, “Oh, you look a bit pink in the shoulders, but not too bad.” Thanks, DAD! Just because I didn’t inherit the tanning gene dosen’t mean you should sacrifice me to the Sun Gods! You’d think will all the professor-ness and NASA training you could diagnose a simple case of sunburn.

Sunday night Trent and I slept with two fans and the air conditioner blowing on us, along with frequent applications of Soothe-A-Caine. Again, thank you God for Soothe-A-Caine. You truly are a loving God, amen. Yesterday, we didn’t fare much better. And when my sleepy ass rolled over mid-dream this morning to give Trent my early-morning bear hug/strangle move, we both screamed out in pain. At least he doesn’t have to wear a bra. Bras are tools of Satan in normal, everyday life, but add in a scortching sunburn and bras are like living forever as an immortal in HELL!!!

Also forgot to mention the constant expulsion of gas this weekend. We thought the dog was so sweet to sleep the whole way home, but I think she may have passed out. I actually had a fart wake me up in the middle of the night. I won’t tell you who’s. That would be gross. And shame on you for wondering.

Critics make me barf

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Once upon a time there was a young girl who was starting a new chapter in her life. She thought she had it all; a great job, a loving boyfriend, good friends and endless dreams for the future.

Then she woke up, went to the job she loathed with all of her being, listened to a crazy, old lady talk about her cats for 8 hours strait, came home and watched reruns of Friends for 3 hours, got drunk alone on a bottle of wine and then passed out on her bathroom floor.

Now, the one great thing about the second senario is that it made for easy topics on this here Internet blog site. The first senario, though a bit overstated, is just not as funny to write about. Somewhere in all of this writing, I thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t write things about people I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) say to their faces.” Again, thanks Dooce. But apparently, this philosophy has deeply saddened some of my readers.

Obviously, I don’t have that many readers here at crazybananas dot com, but the few I have are getting their pantys all in a twist (Hi Heath!) over the lack of cynical bullshit writing in the last few weeks. Apparently, I’ve only had one post worth reading since I switched jobs, so I’d like to give thanks to gay, hispanics who dream of recreating that loving feeling.


The two cynics in bitchier times…

Personally, I think these critics (Hi Heath!) are just sad bastards who are bored at work and are pissed they don’t have anything to read, or anyone to bitch with. As promised, I won’t say anything on this site I wouldn’t say to your face (Hi Heath!). But I do understand their pain. The world of a person who is so intelligent and completely underutilized and bored out of his or her mind is complete crap. Until three weeks ago, this was me. Poking my eyes out. With dull pencils. Drunk. On the floor. Of the bathroom.

And this is still me. I still want to shove dull objects through my skull several times a day. Not just because of work though. Add in the CEO of QVC and a dog that is the equivilant of 2-year-old child who drinks out of the toilet or my constant frustration with my Bearded companion, and BRING ON THE CYNICISM!

Trust me, after this weekend at the lake with our regional CEO and the brain of NASA (known to civilians as my parents) AND the Bearded Wonder, I should have PLENTY to write about.

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