It's No Wonder I'm Tired

I slept for approxmiately 13 hours last night. It was wonderful, but I am still finding myself yawning and stretching, longing for a siesta. I have often said that if there was an Olympic napping team, I would be the first to sign up. In fact, I am already engaging in seroius training as often as possible, and sincerely believe I could make our nation proud should the competitive opportunity ever present itself. I'll keep you posted on that one.

Until I am a national hero, however, my sleep addiction is more of  a source of secret shame than pride, and it has a way of getting in the way of my everyday life. My mother assures me that I never slept as an infant or toddler. I have come to believe her, only because my oldest daughter has inherited the same condition. (Well, I also believe her because she is my mother, but that's not really a humorous enough reason to merit being included in a blog, so let's move on.) If I never slept as a child, that must surely explain why I crave sleep all of the time now.

I can only wonder how my mother survived it all, but when you consider that I spent my first five years practically sans snoozing, it becomes no wonder that I am tired. Wow - five years! I might have to go take a nap before I can even finish this sentence! On top of that, what happens when we factor in my many, many all-nighters in college? (Goodness knows I elevated procrastination to an art form - my first attempt at entry into the Olympics, truth be told I think I might have been even better in that sport than in sleeping.) How many hours of sleep did I miss there?

It boggles the mind. Of course, you can't dig around, searching for the real source of chronic sleeplessness, without eventually finding the 'mother lode.' (Pun intended. By the way, most puns I make are intentional. If they're not, I'll still claim them, especially if they are amusing.) When it comes down to it, one must certainly consider what effect parenting has had on my depleted sleep bank account. Prenatal sleeplessness? Diapering?  Breastfeeding? Lullybying? Kissing owies? Scaring boogey monsters away? (Thank goodness we've not yet gotten to waiting up for a daughter to come home from her first date!) Of course, there is the coup de grace - the fact that Mark and I often find ourselves sharing our double bed (yes, I said double... not even a queen) with a sleep-talking two year old, a perpetually hot, cover-kicking five year old, and anywhere from two to four very obstinate cats). Depleted sleep bank account? That's practically armed sleep bank robbery!

Gosh, I think I'm starting to get a new perspecitive on things. While all of this examination should be cause for distress, I believe I have never been more grateful than I am at this moment. It's a wonder I am even alive! I had no idea how close I came to dying from fatigue through all of my misadventures. Had I become a partier in college, I would most certainly not be here today.

All of this reflection has, well... made me tired. I do believe I have some lost years to make up for, and how can I possibly represent the great U.S. of A. in good form without taking my sport seriously? Off for a nap. It might just turn out to be a lifesaver!