At the risk of sounding melodramatic, having insomnia when you have a preschooler and a baby is like getting lost in the desert for a week and finding a jar of water with a lid you can't get off. It's the ultimate "you've got to be fucking kidding me" moment as far as I'm concerned. Particularly since it's 3:30 in the morning and I'm about ready to start smashing things.
It wasn't too bad a few hours ago. I still had hope back then that sleep was inevitable. But for those of you who know, as the clock ticks the rage grows, and that just exacerbates the situation. My usual tricks aren't working because for some reason my brain is playing The Top 20 Hit Stresses in Your Life on repeat and it's too late for drugs. I'm trying to harness the pent up frustration and channel it into slowing the planet's rotation with my mind, but I have a feeling the sun is going to rise on schedule.
I dare a bird to start chirping. Seriously. Bring it on you little fuckers. I've got thirteen jars of homemade apricot jam in the cupboard and I'm a pretty good shot.
I guess at this point the best thing I can do is make a killer breakfast and rely on the aggressive use of coffee. A word to the wise though - if we cross paths today, please handle with kid gloves. You're reading my blog so obviously you're brilliant, beautiful, and I love you so I'd truly regret it if anything bad happened to you.