insomnia

No one tells you that when you turn 40, you suddenly have skin that matches your almost-sixteen year old. You have a major need for some Tinkle razors and acne meds. He may be learning how to drive, but I was totally showing him how to get that peach fuzz in the mirror yesterday. I’m basically a pro now with my at-home, totally-unapproved-by-aesthetician facials. 

No one tells you that when you turn 40, if you sleep on your side, you get wrinkles on your chest. WHAT. IS. HAPPENING. I even purchased a pack of those gimmicky silicone shields to put on my skin. I had them for my chest, neck, and forehead all so that I could just sweat profusely at night whilst looking like an alien, and now I’m fairly certain I’m perimenopausal. Cool, because if I had a baby at this point it would be called a geriatric pregnancy and that’s totally fair, said no one ever. 

And no one tells you that when you turn 40, you get insomnia.

You get insomnia. And you get insomnia. YOU ALL GET INSOMNIAAAAAA. ::Cue my best Oprah voice::

It usually happens to me every other month, but when it does, I’m super stressed out and we’re lined right up with my lady moon cycle. {Yes, I am twelve and sub words.} But thanks, nature. What a perfect design for the female body. As if I’m not rage-schlepping through life enough for the next week, let’s add zero sleep to that, as well. I feel super productive and healthy right now.

It’s no big deal, really. When I wake up from a dream like a totally sane person, I’m suddenly plummeted into a shame spiral over something awkward I did in the fifth grade. Then it evolves into my to do list, everything that’s wrong, and suddenly I’m trying to solve the world’s problems with my brain that won’t switch off. This is all while Jamin snores in octaves that I’m fairly sure are capable of summoning daymons from the underworld. 

This is also in between his tuck-and-rolls, where he systematically steals the bedcovers. Which is also in between sleep twitches in which I’m fairly certain he must be body slamming into the concrete after a skydiving trip in his dreams, right before he wakes, sending the entire bed into an earthquake worthy of The Exorcist. If you ask him about this in the morning, he’ll go into full on denial and then claim that I’m the one rolling like an alligator with a fresh gazelle on the African plains. What he doesn’t realize, is that this is in total reaction to him. I rage-snatched a few covers the other night, and literally did an opposite roll, so we were two adorable mid-life crisis Swiss Cake rolls of spite, side by side. I’m fairly certain we hated each other in that moment, and this is where my weird illustration ends.

We’re designing our primary suite, but don’t think I haven’t entertained the thought of totally separate quarters. I do hear that’s the key to a long happy marriage, and I’m fairly certain if I hold on for three more years, he can have our oldest’s bed. Shhhh don’t tell him. 

I’ve tried everything, from melatonin gummies to meditation with that expensive app, and herbal tea. I should probs circle back around to the herbal tea and less guzzling of coffee in the afternoons to accomplish life. How dare I try to be productive and run a business and such.

Back to school, alone, will be the death of me. They mean well, but with all the back to school nights lined up and back to school shopping, and wellness checkups and emails and phone calls and lists and lockers and supplies and anxieeetttaaaaayyyy… if one person in the comment section tells me that they successfully flipped the script and changed their lives by magically homeschooling, I will flip a freaking table. This is not the correct answer that we seek, sir. That is not helpful and honestly I’m allowed to be stressed for a hot sec. #diditforthreeyears #wonderfulexperiencebutweallneededwhatweredoingnow #youdoyou 

I just want to know who’s brilliant idea it was in our county, to start on THIS Friday at half a day so Friday is totally off when it comes to working, and we’re all out of sorts, totally exhausted by the following Wednesday. I could sleep-train them a week ahead of time but that’s hilarious because teens, and final days of summer and it’s too late now, we’re Thelma and Louis-ing it right off this cliff. TO WANDA. 

Then there’s this magical thing called doctors. Anyone else behind on their doctors appointments like I am? Maybe because we can’t seem to keep up with our children’s dermatology and orthodontist appointments to make our own adult ones. Or maybe because the apocalypse hit. Probably both. I was all, one, two, skip a few… ZOMBIES and then I didn’t go again. So I called the gyno’s office the other day to schedule an appointment in my call of shame, all because someone announced their mammogram results on insta, which reminded me.

Pause. Back it up.

This is how scattered I’ve been. Someone was all “Whew, MAMMO results be good” and I was like, oh yeah I should get on that and make sure I’m NOT DYING because IT’S BEEN A WHILE. When the judgy lady who makes appointments on the other line told me how long it had been, my anxiety meter went from covid, to cancer. I’m still recovering from last month’s dental doozy of PTSD. I’m cool waiting until September when they could squeeze me in, where they can judge me for my various coping mechanisms like eating too much Chic-Fil-A. Can they just agree no scales when we go?

Maybe this is officially midlife. The part where I’m trying desperately to enjoy each season but my washing machine is broken and the repair guy can’t get here until next week, so that’s another fun adventure. One dog has allergies that requires shots, and the other has a hip issue which also requires shots. What did her subtle line in that passive aggressive text mean? I’m trying to keep up with my self-care by working out in between work and kid schedules so that I can sleep better at night and thus the vicious cycle of exhaustion, and how did I end up here? No, I don’t have time for a massage. Oh, and apparently covid is back and it never went away and I can’t even look at the news.

These are just a tiny peek into the freak show acrobatics {sometimes channeled into creativity?} my brain does at night.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. My greatest hope is that you read this and feel seen. I think across the board, it’s just that time of year for everybody. Like Christmas in the late summer, or something. An inability to sleep due to being plagued with rabid thoughts is just icing on the cake. I promise you’re not the only one with chaotic, malformed plates in the air. Cheers, errebody!

So here’s to insomnia. May we all keep our sanity, one day at a time. 

{PS. I got ten hours of blissful sleep last night, so eventually, it gets better. Wheeee!}