In the early years of parenting, I was almost overcome by the potential of there now being 24 hours in a day, instead of the pre-parenting 12. There always were 24 hours, but now, due to unpredictable sleep schedules, work demands and a need to be alone once in a while, almost all of these 24 hours were now known to me.It was like double the chance to do stuff and time and time again I sacrificed a whole night of sleep to watch back to back Netflix episodes, to complete a proposal for work or to catch up on housework.Now of course, I realize that instead of stealing time, time was stealing from me. Four years after writing this post, I am scrambling to tidy my life back into 12 hours again. The chances of a kid needing me overnight are considerably less. Insomnia is plaguing me by times and preventing me from having quality time not just with myself , but also with my husband. I blame smart phones and my dependence on them. I blame self-employment, but I also blame myself for not being more critical of the concept of The 24 hour woman that I walked right into and embraced so willingly and haughtily. Nowadays, I still try to wake up early to be more productive, but I am grudgingly accepting of the fact that sleep itself, not resisting it, will boost my productivity. I am finding myself on the brink of tears more often and I feel like my life is a bit like a door with missing hinges. I cannot shut the door easily without having to hold onto it for dear life.
Now, I want my 12 hour day and 8 hour sleep, with some hours to be a buffer in between, but it is not easy to gel those hours that have been so denatured by falling asleep with the light on, laptops and adrenaline.