Daylight Savings Time, or as I like to call it, the changing of the clocks that doesn’t so much create an extra hour of daylight as it creates an extra hour of dark that you’re awake in the morning.

If Daylight Savings were a man, I’d kick him in the nut sac.

How’s that for a “How do you do?” on this fine Monday morning?

You see, what the geniuses at NASA or the FDA or The National Weather Service or SD-6 (that one might actually be from Alias) or whatever group of testicle thinkers came up with this stupid idea don’t seem to realize is that while the entire adult population of our country suffers for the next two weeks because it is still dark at 7:00 a.m. and more than anything our bodies want to be asleep, all of the children in the country under the age of 4 are by some miracle of Satan able to adjust their bodies’ internal clocks nearly instantly to the wake-up part of Daylight Savings.

Not to the sleep part, mind you.  But the wake-up part is a breeze for them.

The Beast’s normal bedtime is 8:00.  But last night when we put him to bed at 8:00 his body told him it was 7:00, so there was no sleep.  Instead there was screaming, anger, banging, kicking and evil.

So at 9:00 The Beast finally went to sleep.  I, however, couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight because my body does not believe the time on my clock is correct just because a bunch of morons tells me it is.

You’d think that since The Beast’s normal wake-up time for the past 6 months has been 6:30 a.m. (Do not have children if you want to sleep in.  You cannot have both.) that he’d sleep until the clock said 7:30 today.  This would make sense.

One thing you quickly learn when you have children is that NOTHING they do makes sense.

So when The Beast started screaming for cereal at 6:30, I said, “Oh, hell no!” jumped out of bed, went to his room and told him that it was still the middle of the night and that he had to go back to sleep.

I did all of his bedtime routine tricks to try to convince him that it was still nighttime.

I tried to tuck his covers so tightly around him that he couldn’t squirm out of bed.  And, really, this alone goes to show you that I am not of my right mind when my body thinks it’s 5:30 because unless I actually super glue The Beast to his mattress, there is absolutely nothing that will keep this child in his bed.

I finally got The Beast calmed down and was about to leave his room when he said, “Mommy, I’m all wet.”

Why didn’t he lead with this?  Why did he tell me that he wanted cereal and his daddy and more songs and books to read and never once mention that he was covered in his own urine?  If I were lying in a pee-soaked bed and was finding it difficult to go back to sleep, I think I’d lead with this information.

I got The Beast out of bed and changed his clothes.  And that’s when I found myself in a pickle, because in order to change his sheets I have to put him somewhere.  If I put him down, he’ll start running around his room and once he starts running I’d have a better chance of sprouting a third boob than I’d have of getting him to go back to sleep.

These are the moments when I wish that putting your child in a cage weren’t so CPS-visity.

So I figured I’d use the monitor and call Virginia Slims Man into The Beast’s room so he could hold him while I changed the sheets.  I had this conversation through the monitor:

Me:  Hon, I need you to come in here and hold The Beast so I can change his sheets.

VSM:  [Silence.]

Me:  Hon, wake up.  The Beast is wet.  I need your help.

VSM:  [Silence.]

Me:  Hon, WAKE UP!!!  I need you to come in here.

VSM:  [Silence.]

Me:  WAKE UP, YOU NARCOLEPTIC ASS!  (I’m very rude in the morning.  It really isn’t my nicest time.)

Once I realized that VSM was either not hearing or ignoring (I believe ignoring) my request for help, I stomped to my room, handed him The Beast and said “Here, hold him!”

I then went back to The Beast’s room and changed the sheets.  And then I made VSM attempt to put The Beast back to bed while I went back to sleep.  (I seriously do not know why this man stays married to me.  I would have divorced myself a long time ago.)

So the point of this post is to implore the people at whatever government agency controls the time to STOP JACKING WITH OUR KIDS’ SLEEP AND LEAVE THE FLIPPING TIME ALONE!

9 thoughts on “Daylight Savings Time, or as I like to call it, the changing of the clocks that doesn’t so much create an extra hour of daylight as it creates an extra hour of dark that you’re awake in the morning.

  1. I’ve tried for several years to use the time change to my advantage. In the Fall, I have hopes of an earlier bedtime, and in the Spring I crave a later morning. I am constantly disappointed.

  2. I discovered this weekend that daylight savings time can also affect naptimes. As a new “sort of” parent, I planned a playdate for Manfriend’s daughter, Cinderella. Her naptime was messed up by the time change and she didn’t take one. Playdate=fail. She had a wildly traumatic meltdown which involved sitting on the Candy Land board when she was losing, throwing the little people around and flailing herself against the front door of her new “friend’s” house screaming, “I am never coming back.” In all fairness, she did ask her playmate to “PLEASE not win” and her playmate did anyway. When I got home to my safe child free apartment, I curled up in a ball and trembled for several hours afterwards.

  3. We’re all jacked up over here, too. By all laws of the universe an infant shouldn’t even know what time it is anyway, but after only a few days of getting herself out of whack, she just took her 9:30 AM nap at noon. That means her afternoon nap will happen around 7 PM. I would like whoever insists on voting to keep DST going to come over to my house tonight when I need to get the kids and the baby to sleep, when the baby JUST WOKE UP from an “afternoon” nap and the kids’ bodies think it’s still dinnertime. I hate them, whoever they are. I hate them so much.

  4. DST is evil. And I don’t really care about extra light in the evening. I am awake and driving to work in the morning. There are no words for the hell that DST inflicts on my kids. They are screwed up for days. 😦

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