I am writing this in my warm, cozy bed. My husband snoring softly next to me.
(I mean softly in the most manly way possible, that is. Right.)
See, every night, Liam wakes up around midnight for what I like to call a "top-off" feeding. Sometimes a little sooner, but generally somewhere between 11:40 and 12:05.
(When you haven't slept a full night in six months, you get pretty precise about this shizz.)
Still, I don't sleep.
At 12:05, I was surprised that he had yet to wake.
I'll give it five more minutes, I thought. Then, then I am going to sleep.
But five minutes came and went. And then five more.
And here we are.
Because, I know, I KNOW, that the second I snuggle down and doze off...right in that place between dreaming and awake...
...that is when he will want his top off.
And waking up then is so much worse than just staying awake for a little extra time and playing on the interwebs.
(Holy all things boy band - did you see the NSYNC reunion moment this evening?!?)
So, here I sit.
Tired, ready for sleep, and waiting.
I'm giving it five more minutes.
Evelyn Rae is two years old, Liam is six months old
...and this, this is parenthood.