When Youre Too Tired to Function, Not Tired Enough to Use a Precious Sick Day

When Youre Too Tired to Function, Not Tired Enough to Use a Precious Sick Day My baby woke up five times last night. I sent in my husband for two of them, which only caused said baby to cry louder until I came into the nursery, lifted up my T-shirt and nursed him. Yeah, its probably time tosleep train, but until that difficult weekend, Im struggling to cope with the weekdays.After he wouldnt go back to sleep at 530 a.m., I start mymorning routine. I nearly put the plastic bag that contained a bagel in the toaster. I really do put facial cleanser on my toothbrush. I realize it just in time, laugh at myself, wash it off and proceed to squeeze my 4-year-old sonsPAW Patrol toothpaste in its place. Hey, at least its toothpaste.I choose a bright-yellow dress to wear hoping the dayglow hue will startle me awake throughout the day. Its extremely wrinkled, but after the toothpaste fiasco, I dont trust myself to steam or iron clothes without burning off my skin.I dont step fully onto the first stair outside of my house as I walked out the door, my happy baby kicking away in his stroller. There goes a layer of skin off my calf. As I stride away to make my train, I call to my husband who is staying behind to steam his clothes, Is there a lot of blood? He assures me he doesnt see any.I arrive at daycare and am relieved my child is still in the stroller and is fully clothed, despite a sock that seems desperate to detach from around my sons foot. I drop him off, load his bottles into the correct refrigerator bin, but I cant recall what time it was when I last fed or changed him when his kind teacher asks. Then, I remember, but I cant add two hours to those times because even simple math eludes me when I dont get enough shut-eye.My husband gets to the center before I leave and puts away the stroller in the closet. Thank goodness because I honestly dont think I have the strength to fold it up, let alone hoist the behemoth of a carriage into an out-of-the-way corner.We climb the stairs to the train platform and a fresh wave of exhaustion runs over me. My nose runs. A couple of tears sting my eyes. And then Im crying. Maybe its related, maybe its leid, but I remember that I failed to take my pill forpostpartum depression.I choose a bright-yellow dress to wear hoping the dayglow hue will startle me awake throughout the day. Its extremely wrinkled, but after the toothpaste fiasco, I dont trust myself to steam or iron clothes without burning off my skin.I dont step fully onto the first stair outside of my house as I walked out the door, my happy baby kicking away in his stroller. There goes a layer of skin off my calf. As I stride away to make my train, I call to my husband who is staying behind to steam his clothes, Is there a lot of blood? He assures me he doesnt see any.I arrive at daycare and am relieved my child is still in the stroller and is fully clothed, despite a sock that seems desperate to detach from around my sons foot. I drop him off, load his b ottles into the correct refrigerator bin, but I cant recall what time it was when I last fed or changed him when his kind teacher asks. Then, I remember, but I cant add two hours to those times because even simple math eludes me when I dont get enough shut-eye.My husband gets to the center before I leave and puts away the stroller in the closet. Thank goodness because I honestly dont think I have the strength to fold it up, let alone hoist the behemoth of a carriage into an out-of-the-way corner.We climb the stairs to the train platform and a fresh wave of exhaustion runs over me. My nose runs. A couple of tears sting my eyes. And then Im crying. Maybe its related, maybe its not, but I remember that I failed to take my pill forpostpartum depression.So I post this, not for sympathy (unless sympathy will get me more sleep, in which case, woe is me Feel badly for me) but in hopes that the many other sleep-deprived working moms out there feel a little less alone in their plight and a li ttle bit content in the knowledge that this, like nearly every stage of working motherhood, is temporary.This article originally appeared on Working Mother.WorkingMother is mentor, role model and advocate for the countrys more than 17 million moms who are devoted to their families and committed to their careers. Through our website,magazine, research, radio and powerful events,WorkingMotherprovides its readers with the community, solutions and strategies they need to thrive.