Tuesday, June 20, 2006
So this post is in honor of ~L~, who apparently couldn't handle my brother and Andrew Jackson being the top post in my blog.
I couldn't think of anything really MEANINGFUL to talk about, so we'll address instead the very first thing that comes to mind this morning; the fact that I am awake too fucking early.
At one and a half years old, my third child has found ways to dissassemble my sanity that none of my other children have quite managed to touch. Her very best trick is simply not sleeping. So yes, after turning in nice and early last night at 9:30, she woke up sunny-dispositioned and raring to go...at 5am. Yes, that is right, 5am, the fucking crack of fucking dawn when the fucking birds are fucking singing and I have a fucking pounding headache because I only fucking slept for fucking 6 hours and I fucking need 9. Which coincidentally, is the sum total of the hours that my 17 month old freakchild sleeps in 24 hours. Do we really think that *I* get that many? Oh hell no. If I did, I wouldn't be needing to make a half pot of coffee JUST FOR ME every morning, now would I?
Now, my little bebegirlie is happy and healthy and totally, completely satisfied with her measly little 9 hours of sleep a day. My husband, not-so-coincidentally, only needs about 6 hours of sleep per day to be all happy-like, and this, perhaps, is why HE is dropping hints about a fourth child. All of which meet a response rather similar to "go fuck yourself and YOU be pregnant and lactate this time, and I'll just cuddle here and there. I'll do dishes, I promise."