From Superhero to Cuckoo Clock: Surviving the Wild Ride of Perimenopause Sleep

I'm not sure if I'm going through perimenopause or whether my inner Batman has finally woken up, with no Gotham to save in sight. I wake up every 3.5 to 4 hours every night like a cuckoo bouncing out of its majestic wooden frame from inside a cuckoo clock—those devices which look both magical and haunted. Remember them? Now, I am that cuckoo clock, Batman, and a perimenopausal woman all combined.

Sometimes I fall back asleep quickly. At other times, my 7-year-old screams, "Stop moving your fat body so much, maamaa!" I have yet to educate that kid on fat-shaming, body-shaming, or any kind of shaming, in fact.

The next morning, I wake up either feeling like a zombie or a very wound-up cuckoo clock, ready to go "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" with 20 bars of chocolate pieces to keep my sleep-deprived brain in check. It comes and goes in waves—the sleep, I mean. As soon as I plop my head on the pillow, my power nap becomes a Kumbhakarna nap, and then there's more drool on my face and the pillowcase than the Ganges could ever produce water in its entire lifetime.

So, what exactly is happening to me? Why am I behaving like Batman with no Gotham to save and a haunted cuckoo clock? These are questions that will haunt me until the end of time, or menopause, or until I decide to build a Batcave and actually turn into Batman.

"You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain," to quote The Dark Knight. In my case, you either don't die from sleeping, or you stay awake long enough to see yourself become a cuckoo clock.

Gayatri out! Or should I say: ZzZzZzZzZz...