As I sit here, barely able to pry my eyelids open, I can't help by ask myself, "when did four to five hours of sleep a night become the norm?"My nightly routine is starting to catch up with me. After picking MP up from preschool, getting her fed, bathed and into bed, with a story or two in between, I begin work at my second job as a web content editor. By the time I wrap that up, it's anywhere between 10 and midnight.
I could sooo easily collapse into bed at this moment, but these hours are too precious to waste on sleep.
Instead, I stay up. I surf, write, watch deliciously vapid TV shows (can you say Nip/Tuck?), read, veg, whatever -- eventually hitting the sheets around 2 a.m. Six o'clock comes waaay too early, I wind up sleepwalking through the day, and although I know this isn't healthy, (I know this!) I continue the maddening routine.
I continue because I treasure my down-time. (Ironically, as I write this, it's 10 p.m. and MP is up asking for a snack.) I need it. It's my drug. I know this addiction of sorts isn't something exclusive to single moms - it comes with being a mother, period.
On a related note, I promised myself I would start working out again. Ugh. I missed my self-imposed start date of Feb. 1, so come Monday, I now expect to be squeezing gym visits into my day.
How, I have no idea...
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