An Ode to My New Duvet

Seriously. Is there anything better than new bedding?!

Between my ginger furnace of a husband, my very needy cat, a four year old that still wets the bed at least 1 (if not 3) times a week, a 17 month old who just doesn’t sleep, and plain old insomnia, what sleep I get is precious. Very very precious. I needed at least 8 hours before kids, and now I’m surviving on five broken hours and usually the same amount of coffee. I could sponsor Folgers at this point, and Starbucks might as well just get my pay check direct deposited to them. It’s been rough for everyone involved.

The lack of sleep both was a huge trigger and a huge sign of my PPD/PPA. I barely slept when I was pregnant; as soon as I would fall asleep my hips would ache, and I would wake up every time I’d have to roll over. Then L was born SGA, with low blood sugar and losing more weight than he could afford to. We needed to wake him every three hours, nurse, pump, bottle feed, sleep for an hour, repeat. No “sleep when baby sleeps”, his seriously neglected sister needed me during daylight hours and heaven forbid she nap – too much time away from Mama. Then she was up at least twice a night screaming for me. Our first night with Daddy gone to camp, we all cried in G’s room at bedtime. They would tag team me – L would wake up to feed, go back to sleep, G would wake up and cry for two hours for me to snuggle, which I would resist because I wouldn’t be able to hear the baby, and then as soon as she would fall asleep, L would wake up to feed.
I didn’t sleep for weeks.
I would dread bedtime.
I would lay awake at night once one of them got me up, because I knew it would be pointless to go back to sleep, I’d be again up in less than an hour.
You have no idea how many nights I regretted having another baby, how shitty I felt about throwing off the balance we had as a family. I wanted to go back to the way things were before. I wanted to walk away. I loved him so fiercely, but I resented him at the same time. The same with his sister. I loved her so much, but I resented her not being able to adjust like *that*. Which is ridiculous. I couldn’t adjust and I was a grown ass woman. She was 3.

Everyone kept telling me “You just need some sleep”. “Everything will be better once you get some sleep”. Turns out, not helpful. Know what was helpful? When I started therapy. When I began to pay attention to myself and take care of myself. When we went into Lockdown and I was forced to find a way to make life happen without shutting down, burying myself in my phone, or rage screaming when all I wanted was 5 minutes of peace. Turns out, when you’re stuck in the house together in a long Alberta winter, you start to figure your shit out. We made it work.

However. Now with work, and school, and kids, and life, things are creeping up. I’m starting to lose sleep again. I’m starting to withdraw. My boss suggested a therapist through our Family Resource Centre, one would better understand my needs and would relate a little better than my first (A story for another day), and I’m very tempted to make that phone call. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.

Just. I know it starts with sleep.

So this week I splurged. I bought a new duvet that was lightweight but still warm, and so soft to the touch. I also got a new throw blanket and matching throw pillows. Hubby is gone for work for two nights, the sheets are freshly washed, my legs are freshly shaved. Consider this an act of self-love. It’s gonna be fucking fantastic.

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