True cause of Zombie-ism

Good Morning! How did you all sleep? Great! Me? Thank you for asking but my nights have become a series of frustrating near misses with the sandman. Which is very sad because I really like sleep. Generally sleep is my favorite hobby. I wish there was some sort of competitive sleeping sport. I knew going in to motherhood that sleep would have to become optional. I just didn't realize how irritated I would be with anyone else who actually gets a full night sleep.

Last night I was up 6 times with various little girls and their specific issues. Little girl #1 was up because her sister was coughing too much and she couldn't sleep. After the third round of putting her back to bed I threw a blanket on the couch and told her to sleep there. Problem solved, I went back to bed. Then little girl #3 decided it was time to eat. Grr. What can you do? I got back out of bed and fed her because I am a saint and that is what I do. Finally I dropped back into bed and took a deep breath and closed my eyes in serene relaxation just to hear a little voice at my bedside murmuring something about bugs. Perhaps you remember Mia's recurrent nightmare about bugs? Somehow she has passed this nightmare on to little girl #2. Sisterhood is special.

After putting Eliza back to bed, again, the 3rd time (by now she was wearing her super hero costume) I just threw a blanket on the floor in the hall and told her to sleep there, Apparently bugs only like to sleep in bedrooms. Whatever. As I crawled back into bed again Claira realized that she was lonely and needed to burp some more so she summoned me with her remarkable lung capacity. I nudged Charlie and told him it was his turn. He grunted and started snoring again. So I dragged myself back to the nursery while envisioning what it would be like to stab Charlie in the eye with a fork. When the baby finally settled down I shlumped back to my room and threw myself back on my pillow with a dramatic flair that has taken me years to perfect. My clock mockingly informed me that it was 6 a.m. and I really should get up and hit the treadmill, because that is what a perfect person would do. I tell this imaginary perfect person where she can stick it and drift off to sleep once again. Then the alarm goes off.

Charlie, completely oblivious to the nights festivities bounds out of bed with enthusiasm and hits the shower while dropping a casual remark about how wonderful it is that Claira is sleeping through the night now. I think i threw a pillow at his head. Or maybe it was a fork. I can't be sure.