It’s actually been four or five nights since I slept well; I really can’t tell you how long because the nights are running together. At first, as always, I blamed the baby. But that’s not fair because he actually sleeps pretty well, as far as babies are concerned.

On that note, it is such a fickle thing, our sleep. Two years ago, the idea of ONLY getting six hours of sleep was INFURIATING. Those whining assholes don’t know how good they have it, I’d yell. And now, a couple nights in a row of six hours’ sleep has me struggling to function as a human being.

So anyway. Last night I was really restless. The dogs were incessantly barking at who knows what around midnight, so that was nice. Then, I woke up in the hall. STANDING IN THE HALL. I have no idea how I got there, or why I was there, so I naturally calmed myself down by assuming I was on my way to check on a crying baby. Look at how efficient a parent I am, I thought. I didn’t even have to wake up to walk down the hall! 

Boy, wasn’t I embarrassed when that baby wasn’t even crying? 


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