Sleepless

We've never been good sleepers.
And by we, I mean the maiden name "we's". My dad, my brother, my cousins, my grandmother, myself. It's a family trait, this crazy insomnia, and it runs like a wide river through us.

Both my nephew and niece have it, a legacy from their dad. I'm fairly sure his middle child escaped it. It keeps you up at night, watching bad television.

I've sat through She Spies, Gazelle machines, the Juicer. I'm getting wise to not buying things but the Bobbi Brown Lifetime profile makes me long for a new brown lipstick.

I found my way downstairs last night. When leaving my bed for Ellie's room didn't work. I had two pillows, a snuggie, a fleece, leftover Orange Chicken and a poptart. Low fat.

On some level I thought "You know if you eat after 12, they can't do a D&C" and then I rationed that the poptart would make me feel better in the here and now, and that even if the news is bad, I'll likely leave and pick up Ellie from school then arrange better care. So I'm going to leave regardless.

Sometime around 1:35 a.m. my husband came down. Stood over me. He sleeps naked, and wanders thusly so eye level with your nude husband, meh, penis's are funny looking. Be that as it may I was two episodes into that 70's Show, and my eyes were slitted at the start of the third.

"Sleep. Sleep at last. Thank god almighty, sleep at last."

Then CLICK. Naked husband. With remote.
Clicks OFF tv.
And wakes me up.

And like Nancy Kerrigan I wailed internally
"Why? Why??? WHY????"

Two rules, if the baby is sleeping - you leave the baby alone. If it's not broken, don't fix it.

Why in the world do people constantly do things like cover insomniacs, turn off the lights, move pillows, adjust heat, TURN OFF TVs and wake them up.

I sleep, at best, in two hour increments. Must you - MUST you - try to help.
I've said it before, I'll say it again.

"Honey. Don't add value. You're only going to fuck it up."