Death Becomes Her

I have now been up since Sunday morning at 5 am, and I’m willing to saw off my own left foot for a few hours of real sleep.  And it might just come to that because then I’d have to be rushed to the Emergency Room, and then I’d have happy drugs and be forced to STAY in bed.

I’m not sure where things went off track, but the 15 month old decided that she did not need to sleep… at all.  And then as I was trying my best to lull her to sleep with snacks and milk and songs and stupid cartoons that I pray I never have to watch again, my insides felt like meeting the outside world.

So at midnight last night I had a bebe screaming her head off from her crib where I had to quickly dump her, the hubble was sound to sleep, rooms away and I was puking my guts out violently in the bathroom.  I’ll spare you anymore details beyond the violently part, you’re welcome.

Around 3 am I finally was able to unclench my body from the fetal position and stopped breaking out in hot flashes that I swear where going to melt the leather furniture.  Anddddddd the girl was still awake.  She is STILL awake.

But hey, I got to watch the clips of the Cardinals kicking the Brewer’s arses all night long… almost worth it. 

5 am hits and the huble just now stumbles out to see where I am.  I inform him that he was ->this<- close to finding my corpse on the bathroom floor and that he might want to stay home because I’m certainly not capable of doing anything which may or may not include breathing.

Quarter to 7 now and the bebe is still awake, the boy is up, the animals are all up and the huble is at work.  I am clenching my coffee tightly enough that I’m pretty sure not even the Preditor could rip it from my grasp.  All though he’s more than welcomed to try as long as he takes care of the animals first, gets the boy on the bus, tucks me gently into bed and keeps the bebe entertained all day. 

But that’s not the way things work.  Not even close.  Instead I have to convince my stomach that I have to move and convince my mind that 5 minutes of sleep is plenty to stay on task for the whole entire day. 

Coffee do not fail me now.


One response to “Death Becomes Her

  1. I think *someone* may need to shank hubble. But…I fear…a mild shanking would leave HIM in the fetal position – pfft, men are such wussy-cry-babies. However, should you feel a shanking moment come on, please do so and then quickly leave claiming it to be “Switcheroo” day. Good luck with the chores & bebe, hubble…good luck.

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