There Goes the Motherhood
by Elizabeth Sage, CG
“What are my symptoms, you ask?”
I repeat the doctor’s question out loud as I shift my weight on the exam table, trying to figure out where to begin.
“I think I have early-onset dementia. Or perimenopause. What is it when you have night sweats, plantar fasciitis, and tennis elbow (not from playing tennis, but from the extreme sport of vacuuming)?”
“I can’t remember anything; my body is falling apart, and my patience is at an all-time low. I opened my phone before you entered the exam room and forgot what I was looking for. Twice.”
The doctor, a woman (who looks suspiciously well-rested), nods sympathetically, murmuring as she scribbles something on her notepad.
“How long has it been since you slept a full night?” she quizzes me.
I stare at her blankly. “Like…eight hours in a row?”
“Yes.”
“I have a teen, a tween, and a toddler. That’s hilarious. Next question.”
She sighs and clicks her pen closed. “I’m afraid you have Chronic Sleep Deficiency Syndrome—or, in layman’s terms, parenthood. It’s an overwhelmingly common condition, primarily affecting mothers, resulting in memory loss, irritability, sudden bursts of rage over inanimate objects left on the floor, and an intense desire to run away and live in a quiet cave.”
She flips the chart toward me, and sure enough, a list of symptoms describes me perfectly.
“But I used to be a functioning human,” I whisper. “I read books. I exercised. I had dewy, youthful skin. Lately, I can’t form a coherent thought, my under-eye circles are giving Steve Buscemi a run for his money, and my last ‘real meal’ was three leftover dinosaur nuggets, a handful of Goldfish, and ice-cold (once hot) coffee.”
The doctor gives me a look filled with both knowing and pity. “It’s classic. Your sleep has been stolen by a tiny, ruthless, overly adorable thief. You’re in the advanced stages, but it’s likely to go into remission before it reemerges. This could happen multiple times.”
I clutch my chest. “Is there…a cure?”
She slides a tiny prescription pad toward me. One word is scrawled across it in neat, confident handwriting: Edibles.
I stare at it, almost like it wasn’t written in English. “Like… the cannabis-infused fun kind?”
She leans forward and lowers her voice. “The restorative kind. The healing kind. The natural, botanical, and medicinal kinds. Just a small dose before bed. Not so much that you cannot wake up, but just enough to stay asleep. Especially in postpartum but throughout the entire journey of motherhood. Your body NEEDS deep sleep to repair itself. Your brain needs REM cycles to function. And let’s be honest—your family needs you to be a little less Lizzie Borden and a little more Lizzie Post.” She taps the pad. “This is how you get it back.”
I exhale dramatically. “Okay. But if this doesn’t work, I’m faking a medical emergency just so I can nap in a hospital bed.”
“Understandable,” she says, already holding the door open. “Now go forth. Take a shower. Reclaim your sleep. And maybe drink some water and put on some eye cream.”
I leave the office clutching her recommendation like a golden ticket. That night, after the tiny sleep thief is tucked into bed, I do as the doctor ordered.
And for the first time in years, I sleep. Deeply.
The next morning, I wake up feeling like a new person. My coffee tastes better. My brain works again. My toddler throws a tantrum because their sock feels “too footy,” and I don’t even flinch.
I text my doctor: “It worked! I can’t believe it! What else can it do?”
She texts back: “Literally everything. Your journey back to yourself is just getting started.
Like what you read and want more? Visit www.elizabethsageadvice.com to subscribe to Sage Against The Machine, where Elizabeth shares hot takes, meaningful conversations, and a healthy dose of sage advice.
