Oh, did you think I was kidding when I talked about my list of future blog posts? Nope. I was serious. I have several tales I'd love to tell about all of the fun having your firstborn entails. But first, I'd love to start with sleep deprivation and the ways in which it makes you envision murdering your (formerly beloved) spouse.
I'll never forget the first night back home. I was absolutely terrified. Riley didn't sleep much (OR AT ALL) but every time she finally dozed off for a bit, I was left wide awake staring at her, watching every breath. I assumed, since Greg tends to be as paranoid as I am, that he would share this fear. THINK AGAIN, CASEY. I looked over and he was passed out harder than Rip Van fucking Winkle.
I remember like it was a few minutes ago, typing, "have newborn help im scared will i ever sleep again". A quick search result revealed that I was not alone, and that much like myself, others had experienced a slight inner rage, wondering how their spouse could sleep so soundly. The best thing I remember reading was from a mom with a baby a few months older. She said something along the lines of, "every night it will get easier." And ya know what? She was right.
However. HOWEVER. Major HOWEVER because there was no way I was wrapping this post up neatly with a bow and telling you about how we all skipped off into the sunset, as a well-rested, non-paranoid family. Not the case. We are still very much tired and even more so paranoid. Ask my therapist.
Back to my HOWEVER - even though sleep did start getting easier for me, I still had trouble fathoming how easily Greg slept. Did he just know that I was awake, using the flashlight app on my phone to confirm that her chest was rising and falling? Did he just completely trust that I would hear or know if something wasn't right? DID HE THINK I WENT TO HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY AND COULD PREDICT THE DAMN FUTURE WITH A MAGICAL SPELL?!
She had nursed to her content, and had happily dozed off in my arms. It was, of course, at this moment, that I desperately needed to go to the bathroom. The issue was that I could not move, as best I tried to hurl myself upwards while not waking the baby OR causing myself excruciating pain in my nether-regions.
I needed help and I needed it now.
Alas, when I looked over, all I saw was this (minus sleeping baby of course, since she was, YA KNOW, in my arms preventing me from MOVING).
As you might have predicted, the whisper-yelling proved unsuccessful. Next step: throwing things. I looked to my immediate left and observed the contents on my nightstand. The usual suspects lay there: snacks, more snacks, unhealthy snacks, the healthy snacks that I put there in an attempt to detract myself from eating the unhealthy snacks (spoiler alert: didn't work), a giant water bottle, a book on getting your baby to sleep (pretty much a big fuck you at that moment), nipple cream, and several rags.
I figured alright, let me start off being nice. I chose the rags since they are lightweight and likely wouldn't cause bruising. Flung those suckers over my shoulder in Greg's direction. Fail. The problem with lightweight objects is they don't travel far. I'm going to stop you right there because I know what you're thinking - why is this so hard, he couldn't have been very far away? To which I'd tell you to put a ticking time bomb on your chest, and give you a magnifying glass to find a needle in a haystack three feet away. Seems like the distance of a football field now, huh? Have I won an Oscar yet?
Realizing the rags weren't going to do the trick, it was time to go heavier. Protein bar was up next. A quick throw and I nailed him directly on the shoulder. Didn't even flinch. I wasn't throwing any more of my precious rations at him, in fear I'd be stuck here all night and would surely perish without sustenance, so I moved on to the nipple cream. Got him directly in the chest. Again: nothing. Wonderful.
There was now a leaning tower of pillows on top of my husband's head. The clock was racing forward, every minute that passed felt like an eternity I was losing in sleep. My urge to use the restroom grew greater and greater. Greg had the audacity to have a little smile on his happily comotose face, as if he were having a pleasant dream about eating nachos on the beach and then sleeping for twelve hours afterwards. And no, I couldn't see him beneath the pillows, I JUST KNEW HE WAS SMILING I KNEW IT OKAY. It was time to go big or go home.
Guys, I'm not proud of what I did next, but you know what they say about desperate times and all. I looked over and saw my only remaining option. My completely full water bottle. I briefly considered googling how heavy an object would need to be to cause a concussion, but quickly put my rational thought aside. It was now or never.
That motherfucker opened his eyes.
I sat there, frozen, heavy water bottle aimed directly at him, seconds away from launch.
You can imagine this was slightly awkward, if not, petrifying.
Greg, extremely confused, mumbled, "What the HELL are you doing?" I could not find words to speak to answer his question. He said, "Why is there nipple cream under my armpit? Were you going to throw that water bottle at me?"
There were many things I could have said in this moment. I decided honesty was the best policy. "Yes, Greg. Yes I was. Now take the baby before I urinate on our king mattress".
Luckily, even though he's a horrible insomnia-partner, he's a great husband and father. He scooped Riley up, put the pillows and various other assault weapons back in their respectful places, and kissed me on the forehead. Ahh, I loved him again. He was the best. How could I have ever been angry?