My Personal Brand of Tasmanian Devils

I seriously need help. It's a little embarrassing. Brad chuckles every time I bring it up and I know it sounds ridiculous but I don't know what to do. I've tried everything I can think of and yet I start each day with the same problem.

I've forgotten how to sleep.

I KNOW!

Well, no, wait now. I haven't forgotten how to sleep exactly. I've forgotten how to sleep comfortably. I wake up every morning all mangled and crippled. First I curse the mattress. Then I curse the pillow. Then I creak and crack and roll out of bed, trying not to turn my head to the right for fear my neck will snap right in two.

It sucks.

I have a theory. I always have a theory and I know this one to be true. My discomfort is directly related to, ahem, my udders.

Bear with me. I know I just set the feminist movement back 50 years by comparing myself to a cow but let's be honest here. All they do is hang about and create milk so really. Am I all that far off in my assessment here? I. Think. Not.

My theory goes like this: because of the fact that my udders take up about 95% of my torso, I can't sleep on my side like a normal person. When I try, it feels like two wombats are at battle on my neck. There is much gnashing and smashing and squishing going on and I can't breathe. If I try sleeping on my back, well, that's no good either. Now it's like the wombats are trying to burr into my armpits for the winter and that's not exactly the quickest path to REM sleep. And obviously the stomach is off, because, well, you try sleeping on top of two wombats.

My solution to this problem of late has been to sleep on my side with my arm under my pillow. This was working swimmingly until suddenly it wasn't. I started waking up in the morning with agonizing pain between my shoulder blades and because I am a slow learner, I originally blamed everything around me.

"Brad! We need a new mattress! This one is horrible!"

Three days later...

"Brad! We need new pillows! These ones are horrible!"

And then, finally...

"Brad! I need new udders! These ones are horrible!"

And so the story goes.

For the past several days, I've been trying to learn a new way of sleeping. Let me tell you, way easier said than done. When you have that one perfectly comfy position for rest, it's hard to trick your body into thinking something else will feel just as good. I toss. I turn. I start to hyperventilate because it's the middle of the night and I haven't been to sleep yet and then I inevitably thrust my arm under my head and go right to sleep. And wake up disfigured.

Last night's dance of the wombat combined with my son who seems to have an ear infection granted me approximately 24 seconds of sleep. This does not make for a happy Kiz-Jo.

I am hoping that because I am on the verge of face-planting into the keyboard that I will drift off to sleep in record time, arm tucked securely by my side. I am hoping the wombats will snuggle in and stay put. I am hoping that Dr. Rey will make a house call and cut these udders right off while I sleep, comfortably, arms where they're supposed to be. And most importantly, I am hoping to awake in the morning renewed and refreshed and without the need of an entire tube of Icy Hot.

Here's to hoping.