It's not right to even call it a "night of sleep," since I did no actual sleeping. I'm not exaggerating or being dramatic (there was plenty of that on the actual night) - I truly did not sleep at all a few nights ago. I know this, because I can account for what I did each hour of the night. It went a little something like this:
Go to bed, very sick and congested, after working an event (outside) for my former company, sometime around 10PM. Being pregnant, I knew there were many things I couldn't take, so I settled on two Benadryl, hoping to open my sinus and be able to breath.
After laying in bed for an hour, I got up, watched an episode of Planet Earth, and checked a few emails. I laid back down at midnight and tried to sleep. Got up 30 minutes later, took some Day Quil (since I knew NyQuil was frowned upon). Around 1AM, I tried half-heartily to wake Ian up, looking for some sympathy.
Got out of bed around 1:30, watched an episode of New Girl on Hulu. At 2, I headed back to bed. Laid down for about 15 minutes and that's when I totally lost it. I woke Ian up and said I had to take some NyQuil, since I wasn't sleeping at all. In his dreamy state, he whispered, "Okay, just don't take too much." To which I hotly responded, "And what is too much?" "You know, take half a dose, or something," he said.
I bolt up in bed and yell, yes yell, "Argh! Why can't you just say, 'Take whatever you need to, babe, it will be fine? You need sleep and the baby will be alright.'" Shocked awake by my tone, Ian turns on the light. Poor man. I'm sure he was thinking, "Wow, I didn't know we were fighting." Well, we are buddy, so wake up.
I then proceed to rant and rave about how I can't sleep and it's not fair because I can't take the good stuff because of the baby and how I'll never get better if I don't sleep and how I'll probably never sleep again. (See? I warned you there were lots of dramatics and exaggerating during the night.) Ian suggests I try to watch a Planet Earth episode, which of course landed him in more trouble. If he cared at all, he would have already noticed me missing from the bed and known I had tried that. At this point, I think Ian realized I was losing my top, as I paced around our bedroom. He did not make any more suggestions, let me take a full dose of Nigh Quil and then didn't even question my actions when I began to download Bill Cosby sketches to my iPhone.
Now, if you're my friend, then you know how much I like to sleep. A lot. A lot, a lot. I normally average around 9 hours of sleep a night, and I'm not good with less. So hopefully you'll take that knowledge, coupled with the fact that I was clearly having some sort of anxiety attack, and forgive me for what happens next.
At 2:30 in the morning, on a work night, I proceed to make Ian listen to the aforementioned Bill Cosby sketches with me, with the lights on, while I prop myself up in bed and try to calm my racing heart. I told him it was just until the NyQuil kicked in. But the thing is, when you're pregnant, you're kind of crazy and I was sure by this point I had totally scrabbled our unborn baby into a crazy mess and there was no way that NyQuil, which I had now convinced myself was from the devil, was actually going to work.
Around 3, I finally take pity on my husband, who has to work the next day, and I get out of bed and listen to the rest of Bill Cosby on my own on the couch. I come back to bed around 4, only to find Ian still awake (now I'm feeling REALLY bad, because I know he often has a hard time falling back asleep and I was too selfish to care). I get back out of bed, knowing that if he is going to have any chance of sleeping, it's with me gone. I'm not feeling as anxious at this point (thankfully, Ian was able to talk me down off my Machinist ledge and I knew the night would eventually pass), but I had also given up on any sleep.
So, I began to answer emails and check our bank account. Not overly cheerful things to do, but at least I got some work done. I also did some reading, during which I began to get very sleepy. Buoyed by my droopy eyes, I creep back into bed at 6:30. This is about the time Ian needs to get up and I'm relieved to find that he has actually gotten some sleep - by some, I mean that he probably slept from 5 to 6:15. I finally drift to sleep for about 20 minutes, during which time Ian decides to call off work, since he only slept a few hours and I was beyond functioning.
He then proceeds to spend the next day taking care of me and Ruthie, never once complaining or mentioning the middle of the night hysterics that left him a little shell shocked.
And you know what he reward was? Today, on the day he had to go back to work, he is sick. Poor man. But last night, he took a large dose of NyQuil, which worked quite well (I even checked for breathing once or twice), so I guess we can't feel too sorry for him. Then again, I don't think even NyQuil can make up for all he went through on Thursday night. It's a miracle he's not afraid of never sleeping again.
