Sleep is impossible in the hospital. Between feeling sorry for myself, my postpartum roommate (I'm considered an antepartum patient) who needs to feed her new baby every two hours, my restless legs, and the uncomfy bed, falling asleep is a joke.
Last night, I looked out the window at the lights of the city and the little toy taxi cabs passing on the street below for hours. I watched 11:00 pass, midnight, 1:00, then 2:00, filled with complete and utter jealousy of all the New Yorkers running around the city with complete freedom. At least I have the window bed, a real luck-out in the game of hospital bed bingo.
Finally, just before my inevitable tired tears of frustration start to flow, I stomp out to the nurses' desk and demand an Ambien. Ahhh, Ambien. Each night, I have tried to fall asleep without it, afraid of what extra limbs it might cause my boys to sprout (bite your tongue!). After all, it's a narcotic and, um, I think you're supposed to avoid narcotics when you're pregnant. But I've asked every single nurse and doctor I've come across about its safety during pregnancy, and they all assure me it's perfectly fine. They wouldn't let me have it if it wasn't okay, right? And my babies need me to get sleep. So I swallow the tiny pill and lay back in bed, singing a love song in my head to the drug as I drift off. I love Ambien more than Breathe Right strips.