Bed love

Image from nataliedee.com.

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you just wish you could pull the covers over your head and possibly never get up?

I am pretty sure that if you say you haven’t you are probably lying.

I am starting to suspect I have more of those than not.  At least lately.

With all of the surgery stuff, it is difficult to not feel sleepy in the morning.  And by sleepy, I more mean fresh from waking up from a coma kind of groggy.  I pass out as soon as I go to bed and then scrape myself out of bed in the morning after the alarm.  Annnnnd repeat.

It isn’t even like I go to bed late.  Well, I did last night because I had to give directions to our lovely friend, LD who is tending Jeter for the weekend.   And she didn’t get off work until 10.  My bedtime is somewhere around a 9pm pass out time.  Thus, last night was a stretch.  And subsequently, this morning was death.

I am not one that deals well with reduced sleep.

If I were somehow arrested and tortured, sleep deprivation would likely get me to confess to anything.

So, call and things that require me to be functional and at work by 6am (especially when by the time you get home after work, it is 6:30 or 7) are not conducive to my sleeping habits.

The average adult requires between 6-9 hours of sleep.  I fall towards the 9 hour range.  If I could sleep 8-9 hours every night, I would be a happy person.  But, no.   In order to sleep 9 hours with my current schedule, I would have to go to bed at 8.  Even going to bed at 9 pushes the limit of getting things done around the house and such.  It makes me envy my crazy night hawk husband (although the fact that I can do things like go to the gym, market and back home before he wakes up on Saturday morning is pretty awesome).  No matter how much I sleep, I find staying up late a struggle.

I fall asleep pretty quickly presently.  Probably because I am so tired.  But, as a result, I feel like I don’t get to enjoy our bed.  Foolish, I know.  But, we have delightful fleece sheets on the bed now.  And fleece is like a hug for the entire body.  I sleep through the entirety of that hug.  By the time the alarm startles me out of a deep sleep, it seems the whole thing just started.  But then it is really ending.

My morning goes something like this (when rounds start at 6:30… Shift back 15 minutes if it is a 6am morning- flashing lights make a world of difference in commute time… Also being simply on time is sufficient on those mornings as opposed to the standard 10 minutes early):

  • 5:03: Alarm goes off.  I wake up confused.  Turn it off.  Take pills.  Roll over and try to go back to sleep.
  • 5:13:  Real alarm goes off.  I sing the song playing to myself.  Turn it off and calculate what time I actually need to  get out of bed to make it to work on time.
  • 5:17:  Contemplate the awesomeness of my bed.  Figure out what I need to wear and bring for lunch.  Snuggle closer to Patrick in hopes that when I look at the clock again, it will not yet be time to get up.
  • 5:23:  I really should be up by now.  Recalculate amount of time I should take.
  • 5:24:  Start whining in my head about how cold it is “out there.”
  • 5:27:  Stretch like a cat.  Maybe stick an appendage out from the sheets in hopes of startling my body out of bed.
  • 5:28:  That fails.  Patrick, still mysteriously asleep hauls the blankets off of me.  I am unimpressed.
  • 5:30:  I moan and groan and roll out of bed.
  • 531:  I tear around like a madwoman getting ready and intermittently chased down by the cat.
  • 6:03: Wake up Patrick again whilst downing breakfast.
  • 6:07:  Start the elevator (our kind term for hitting the down button).

As you can see, the morning involves a lot of enjoying the bed and then an abundance of hating my life getting ready.  This morning, I inadvertently enjoyed the bed a bit too long and thus hate my life a touch more than usual.

Also, you probably noticed I hate even numbers and much prefer activity measured in 3s and 7s… It is odd, I know.

I really do love the coziness that is my bed.  I just wish I saw it more often.  But not in the stay in bed sick or stay in bed so long I give myself a migraine kind.  Just in the pleasant, not rushed enjoyment style.

I also like sleep.  Even a few days after getting back to the routine, I miss it.  Gosh, just wait until I am a parent.  And likely still doing the whole call thing.  Then, will I ever whine!

Image from snugglebugz.ca

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