Hell hath no fury like a woman woken
NS January 26th, 2009
The Noble Baby, the one who has slept like a dream since he was born, has decided that shrieking all night is fun and that the only thing he wants is to lounge on my shoulder while I walk around the house. Laying in bed next to your mother in a peaceful slumber is for pansies, apparently. TNH had the gall to complain about the noise and ask for earplugs at 5.15am when I came into the spare room where he was sleeping, asking for help. I’ve had about six hours sleep over two nights, broken into god-knows-how-many-dozen segments. Needless to say, I lost the plot. A pack of baby wipes ended up the target of my fury and are now spilled all over the floor, having been beaten mercilessly from their packaging. The filing cabinet became an unsuspecting victim as well, an innocent bystander hurt by cross-fire, when slamming the baby wipes repeatedly down on the top somehow dislodged a ragged chunk of the cheap wood and exposed a screw holding the drawer on. The noise scared the bejeesus out of my poor, innocent boy and his face was one of wide-eyed shock before he wailed again and burst into tears. I slumped onto the bed, hair clenched in my fists, and joined him in crying.
Sleep deprivation does twisted, messed up, horrible things to a person.
