The first week of dealing with daylight savings time is coming to a close. Conclusion? It’s THE worst. Extra hour, my butt. We don’t gain squat. We get cranky kids whose internal clocks are all screwed up, and especially if they’re still napping, are holy terrors during the day and won’t go to sleep at night.
My brother pointed out last year that every time we change the clocks, there is a 100% chance I will write a Facebook post bitching about it. It’s true. I do. I hate it.
But! It gets better! Hear me out.
I still get jet lagged and hate the time change, but now that my children are getting older, now that they’re becoming more independent, I’m slowly getting to a place where it actually doesn’t matter that we change the clocks. They read at night. I have no idea if they’re up for an extra little while unless I go check. Otherwise, they’re not calling me. They’re leaving me alone. No matter what time they’re up in the mornings, they’ll go find their screens and play quietly until we wake up.
Facebook memories have granted me the gift of humble recollection of the hell lived with children who prove DST to be a life ruiner. Every year, I bitch about how much I wish I lived in Saskatchewan. They’re no dummies. Clearly the people who made decisions on their behalf with regards to DST were parents.
I see you, friends. I see the hell you’re living. You didn’t save an hour. You lost sanity. It’s now the end of the week and you’re so tired you’re not sure you’re going to make it until the end of the day. This week has been complete and utter hell for you. ‘WHY DST?!? WHY?’ you are all asking in stereo.
I’m sure my brother was let down by not being able to point out my predictability. Sorry older brother, this year, no fodder for you.
Like so many things about parenting, something that is affecting your life so profoundly today, will be no-issue in a few short years.
Yes, I know it sucks now. I know it does. People telling me ‘it gets better’ annoyed me no end when I was dealing with colic and all of the other fun things parents of young kids go through. “I don’t want to hear that! Who cares about later. I am losing my mind now!”
You are. You totally are. You’re fully justified in habitual, predictable, semi-annual rants about changing the clocks. You bitch all you want and pray for this weekend to come so that you can try to undo some of the damage and get in some precious rest and down time. Don’t let people who point out that you can be counted on to bitch about it dissuade you from saying ‘eff the time change!’ loud and proud.
I don’t get why it exists. I don’t. It was clearly not thought up by a parent. No parent would voluntarily screw with their child’s sleep for the sake of an extra hour of light you’ll lose in a month’s time anyway.
But there will be a time, I promise, when you’ll get that extra hour, or, at least not have the whole house be a bunch of angry, non-sleeping humans.
In the meantime, though, you complain and lament the stupid time change.