You know how they say the effects of sleep deprivation are similar to alcohol impairment? All it takes is less than six hours sleep to leave you schnockered enough to fail a breathalyzer test if there was a breathalyzer test for sleep deprivation.
Well, then for the last seven years I parented drunk.
Six good, solid hours of sleep? In a row? What’s that? Becoming inebriated three or four times a week qualifies a person as an alcoholic. At least three or four nights a week I don’t get enough sleep. I’m not just a little impaired from sleep deprivation, I’m a lush. I might as well hire Virginia Woolf to babysit for me.
Experts claim lack of sleep affects coordination, reaction time and judgment just like alcohol. This explains a lot.
Like when I left the ice cream in the cupboard. Overnight. Or why I can’t remember my kids’ birthdays when they ask at the pharmacy. How about the time I drove safely home on icy roads through a snow storm then slid into the fence in my own driveway? And why do I let Wade drink red juice in the room with the beige carpet even though the outcome is always disastrous? I routinely put Wade’s shoes on backwards. Also, I can’t win at Wii tennis for anything.
I probably shouldn’t be left alone to supervise small children. Would you let an intoxicated babysitter watch your kids?
The thing is sleep deprivation doesn’t drown your sorrows, invoke false feelings of well-being or make you want to sing karaoke. It’s more like being an angry drunk about to pass out on the couch at any moment. And no one is up at three a.m. with a two year old watching Caillou just for fun.
They say you shouldn’t drink alone, but sleep deprivation is a lonely and solitary affair. No one gets up with you to feed the baby in the middle of the night.
If only there were a Promises treatment center for sleepless parents. Sterile, white, fingerprint-free walls. Quiet corners. Time to actually form a complete thought. Trips to the bathroom alone. People asking, “How does that makes you feel,” instead of whining for a cookie. 28 days of naps and 28 nights of deep slumber.
Check me in! Wait. No. I’ll check myself in.
Don’t be surprised if I relapse and go back every year.
Linked up with Finding the Funny at My Life and Kids.