The Small One Makes Me Dumb

Can we talk for a minute about this kid?

Don’t stare directly into his eyes. Don’t be deceived over by his charming, adorable glow and flirty smile. Don’t think for a minute that this kid cares about your rest.

He careth not.

He’s a fan of wakefulness. An overachiever. A genius at not sleeping.

We’re working on getting him into some kind — any kind — of a regular system, but in the meantime

my God, am I tired.

Like everything in my gut is all tied up and wishy washy, I can’t focus on a task for any productive amount of time and I say

really

really

stupid things.

I’m not really know for having much of a filter to begin with. This has gotten me into much trouble. But with this whole exhaustion nonsense, I’m just plain batty.

On one hand, I think the lack of sleep has triggered a part of my brain making me extra creative.

Here’s a poem I wrote to him at 3 a.m.:

Not too shabby, no?

Then there are the letters:

Dear BAM,

For the love of everything that is pure and holy and true, go back to sleep! This waking up every hour thing? Yeah, so not cute.

Your doting mother

———————-

Oh yeah, sweetie, it’s totally okay that you’re up for the 82nd time tonight.#ilietomykidsandmyself

———————-

Oh, I see. Nooowwww you go to sleep. Turd.

———————-

Dear BAM,

You’re cute when you wake up at 3 am and want to flirt and chat.You’re way cuter at 6:30. Think about that.

Love,
Your cross-eyed mama

Today a coworker sent me this picture in an IM. My response?

Is that when they went in to move the panda, so they dressed up like pandas?
Pandas must be idiots.

[ crickets ]

WHO SAYS THAT?

Yesterday I was so exhausted, I went home early to sleep. While I was changing BAM’s diaper, I had this conversation with Sean:

Me: You know, there really ought to be a place where you can drop off your kids and pay them to take care of them so you can come home and sleep or be sick or run errands.

Sean: You mean day care?

This was almost on par with another sleep-deprived conversation we had a few years ago:

Sean: Why doesn’t someone just publish a book of definitions?

Me: You mean a dictionary?

Here’s what I would like my kids to know:
Darlings, your mother was smart once. She was an honors student, got a full ride to college, and at one point in life wanted to be a physics professor. She was brilliantly creative and productive and, well, she was SMART. Who knows if I will ever get smart back, but here’s one thing I will promise you kids: smart may have seeped away with midnight cluster feedings and overzealous trips to the Children’s Museum, but there’s one thing that ain’t going anywhere.

Love. And this mama is full of it.

If only love was a sedative.