168. That’s how many hours there are in a week. 87,600. That’s how many hours there are in a decade. On April 25, I will have been on duty as a parent for 87,600 hours. It’s a sobering thought. Hell, it’s an exhausting thought.
This past week has been basically been a series of Mondays tossed together. Nothing has gone according to plan. There hasn’t been enough sleep, coffee, or moments of silence. In the 168 hours of this week, I feel like I was the on call parent for 160 of them. I’m exhausted physically, emotionally, and mentally. Instead of sleeping, like any sleep-deprived parent should do, I’m sitting here in the dark. To my left, there is a wiggly baby who just let out a high-pitched squeal. She hasn’t been sleeping well at night. This has also translated into barely napping during the day. Being overtired contributes to not sleeping well at night. Baby not sleeping well means I’m not sleeping well. Being overtired leads to sitting up after midnight typing out the words that are swirling around in my head. It also means I’ll be drinking too many cups of coffee tomorrow and fervently hoping to take a nap at some point during the day. Fingers crossed, y’all.
Hope, however, isn’t a plan. I hoped this week would be different than last week. Oh, it was. No more hamsters were found lurking in the backyard (Hallelujah!), but I did have to hear how I’m the worst mom ever and how I should just run away. Today I was told that I don’t care about anyone and that I treat everyone like crap. Six year olds are thrilling.