Nightfloat (again)

I should just control+alt+print this post and paste it into my diary...more fitting than publishing to my popular power blog for all to eye roll at and not enjoy. (aka...maybe just skip or skim if you've anything else remotely interesting such as toenail clipping or blank wall staring going on in your vida ahora)

Don't worry...I won't pound out a woe is me post...although of course I'm tempted. Oh...so...tempted.

Fine, maybe a little woe. Only for you.

I should probably hold off on writing about this rotation until after it is over ... but then my rosy retrospect glasses might come out to play and we all know I don't like to get rosy.  Only gray skies for Grace.

So we're now in the thick of an entire month of the float...which is way worse than I had imagined. I knew as other residents' wives had warned me that night float months were going to be rough but I still had comical and idealistic visions of Simon coming home in the morning, napping for a few good hours and then rising to greet the afternoon with family walks, meals and merriment before he shipped off again at 5 for another night of work. Wrong, so wrong. I took one look at a very fatigued Simon after his first night, calculated how many hours he had until he had to be back that night and knew that virtually all hours not spent in the hospital were going to be spent sleeping...for his health, sanity and the safety of any patients he encounters which is 110% understandable. We're lucky that he falls and stays asleep insanely easily anytime and anywhere and isn't bothered by the almond milk chugging contests, sprint-crawling relays and um laundry folding that Julia and I occupy ourselves with during the day.

I slept a collective hour the first night of float and a solid and consecutive (!!) two on the second night. However, I will report that victory was totally mine when I clocked in five hours of sleep last night...praise all that is good and holy.

Still, if I had a functional magic wand I would put on my selfish pants and halt all night labors (sorry ladies...your babies will arrive cuter in the morning anyway), install sleep-on-demand buttons into my and Julia's little brains and permanently cut out the illogical portion of myself that won't let me easily fall and stay sleep while our valiant patriarch is gone. 

Fortunately, Julia is being a real trooper and graciously napping twice a day (she had temporarily weaned herself down to one nap...much to my horror) which means that I can nap twice a day which most certainly takes the semi-sleepless nights hangover edge off...a little bit.  There are several new (not necessarily quality) shows to enjoy on Hulu late into the scary nights and the fancy, shiny Target close to our house doesn't charge for pregs and babes to wander and wander and wander their aisles if only to purchase coffee creamer in order to kill the dragging hours in the evening. I'm always hungry these days so eating dinner at 4:30 before Simon goes into work is actually very ideal and makes me feel less guilty about my large 3 am first second dinner/first breakfast. Some positives to scream about. 

Ayyyand I think Julia is getting just sick of her mom enough because we are spending every waking moment of hers very much juntos that she will welcome the new sibling/attention vacuum with gratitude and a heavy sigh of relief.
Dingdingding winwinwin.

What have we learned?
Nothing.
But, my 'I know I can't' mantra is slowly evolving into, 'I maybe can and might survive but I am still a giant, selfish baby'.

Until next week's obnox complaint post,
your favorite susie sunshine