“all this laughing, crying, smiling, dying here inside’s what i call living.”
hurricane irene preparedness 2011.
that’s rich, steve.
dear marianne continued part 2 (babies, breastfeeding, birth control, and the like)…
true story.
it’s 4:29 am. i’ve been up since 1:40. i can’t complain a whole lot. this is the first time i’ve had to do this and he’s almost 5 weeks old. don’t be jealous cause, after all, i am awake now and you’re probably sleeping.
he’s sleeping now too. why aren’t i? good question.
well, after faking us out sleep-wise for the 15th time, i decided to bag the attempts to put parker to sleep and just wear him around the house. baby-wearing burns calories. burning calories makes one hungry. hungry people need to eat.
so i had a bowl of life.
that was, until i dropped that bowl of life, for no apparent reason, on the desk and it smashed in two. milk. soggy life. all over the desk. parker jumped for a second. back to sleep he went.
oh, and i cut my finger too.
a paper towel and a rubber band do a fine job at a makeshift band-aid in the middle of the night.
and is there any point in going back to sleep if he will be wanting to eat in, oh, 1 hour?
p.s. i am going to start a moms-awake-at-all-hours-of-the-night-so-lets-just-use-the-time-to-blog thing.
p.p.s. probably a bad idea actually.
p.p.s.s. don’t i have to actually sign off to necessitate not one, but three p.s.’s? whatever. here it is.
love,
bridget