They tell you how tired it makes you, though that’s diminished enormously in the last two to three weeks, to the point that I even managed to tidy the (downstairs of…) the house before Christmas, to my never-ending pride. A week of washing dishes and getting laundry done did wonders for my sense of personal well-being, to say nothing of that of the rest of the family.
What they don’t tell you, is that at least some of the tiredness is derived from being completely unable to sleep. You wake in the night, you think “No! I’m knackered, go back to sleep!” Then you sit there for half an hour. Then you decide that you really need to go to the toilet. Then you go back to bed for half an hour. Then your stomach decides that, since you’re awake anyway, a snack might be nice. You go downstairs, trying to keep the number of lights you put on to a minimum, because you’re determined not to be awake, really. You find some food, down three quarters of a pint of milk, and go back to bed for half an hour. Then you realise that you really are awake, now, so you might as well play on the computer for a bit.
And so it goes on. Until a good two or three hours has passed, you go back to bed, sleep the sleep of the just and righteous for a bit, and then the toddler wakes up. And that’s it, the day’s up and running.
It’s a terribly inefficient way to run your body.