An ode to sleepless nights by Melissa Sher
The small hand on the clock points to the five.
The cities and the suburbs are quiet.
But me? I've been up for more than an hour.
Oh, isn't being a new mum a riot?
At four am my newborn got hungry.
I had to feed him to silence his fit.
Now he snores with breast milk dotting his lips.
And I'm so tired I can hardly stand it.
Yes, I'm tired, exhausted and bitter.
Can't you tell I'm at the end of my wits?
My poor brain is fried and my body hurts.
Sleep deprivation is truly the pits.
Everybody says to sleep when he sleeps.
Folks who say it think that they are brilliant.
But I need to eat, to bathe, and to pee.
Sleeping is hard to do with an infant.
Six uninterrupted hours would be great.
But I'd take four if my babe would permit.
Because when you're a newborn's open bar,
When you rest, you only rest for a bit.
Every time I sit down to eat dinner,
Or try crossing laundry off of my list,
Whenever I hope to call back a friend,
My son will cry and those cries are legit.
Wait! I'll lie down and close my eyes right now,
Even if it is just for a minute.
I'll do what they say: I'll sleep when he sleeps!
Oh, never mind. He is awake now. Sh*t.
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