I have been awake since midnight.
Midnight of last night; midnight of this morning. I’m not sure which it is, but all I know is that in three and one half hours, if I’m still awake, I’ll have added another check mark beneath the title NUMBER OF TIMES I STAYED UP FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
I try to tell myself that it’s no big deal. Nurses work the night shift all the time, and so do people who put big blue bags of pretzel M&Ms on the shelves at the Walmart.
I think their constitutions are stronger than mine.
People, we have a newborn in our house who thinks that the dark hours are for BEING AWAKE and for STARING AT OUR PARENTS and for WONDERING WHO WILL TALK TO ME, while he thinks the daylight hours are strictly reserved for ALL THE SLEEPING.
We have trenches in our hardwood floors from walking back and forth, juggling Thing 2 and trying to politely coax him into just giving sleep a try. We love the little man; oh my word! We DO! But the whole business of him being awake when Hubs and I want to sleep, and him sleeping when Hubs and I want him to be awake is getting as old as cheese created by leaving a half-drank bottle of Similac in a diaper bag for a week.
We also have a beloved pet frog who is looking gravely ill tonight. I’d say he’s a little on the green side, but then he’s always been a little on the green side. But tonight he looks as though he’ll be meeting Jesus soon, face to face, and the boy’s heart is plum breaking. And do you know what? Mine is, too, because our little frog has been a fun pet to have, and because we take our pets seriously around here.
We’re living life tired here, y’all. Tired and in the trenches and walking in the valley of the shadow of death.
So I’ll catch y’all tomorrow, when I actually can keep my eyes from crossing with exhaustion.
But before I go, I thought I’d tell you that I actually have a GAME PLAN for tomorrow: