Oh sleep.


I have not had a good week, not when it comes to sleep. I haven’t slept well at night, and yet, I’ve gotten out of bed in the morning, fed the littles, and crawled my way over to the couch to fall asleep again. I don’t know that it would bother me that much, I had to do that many times when I was pregnant with littlest, but now that we’re getting our own place, I feel positively terrified.

I’ve got so many questions running through my head. Am I going to feel less sleepy because it’s just me, and no one else is there to let me be sleepy? Am I going to be more sleepy because there’s more work, and therefore a terrible mother because I’m going to sleep so often? I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that my children will not know anything different than how I happen to be, therefore they’ll consider it normal, but in the meantime, I’m desperately trying not to panic in the full.

I’m sure I sound ridiculous, parents do what they have to to make sure that children are cared for, and I’m sure that if the littles find me asleep on the floor with them, they will use me as a road map (as I did for my mother), and see nothing wrong at all. (I would like to point out that an advantage to this is that my house is so well “little-proofed” that I’m not terribly concerned with waking up to something awful. Then again, both my littles are boys and from what I understand, little boys tend to get themselves into all sorts of adventures). I am trying also to reassure myself, as I am capable of waking up, I do not become unconcious, and therefore most of my worry is probably about nothing in particular, but still.

Anyway… My small insecure moment is now abated, and in other news, Littlest definitely has teeth. I was excited a few days ago, but given that he’s only 5 months old, I wasn’t sure if they’d recede or not. They haven’t! *smiley face here* Biggest has gotten even more talkative, I didn’t think it was possible. We are officially in the “must not laugh for future consequences” stage, because even when he’s in trouble, he gets this cheeky grin, and tries to negotiate. It’s terrible for the preservation of the Mom-back-bone. Especially in the instance of  his potty M&M’s. The conversation has become, of late:
B: enimem?
Me: Yep, M&M’s! Good job!
B: one… two free four?
Me: One.
B: One?
Me: One.
B: Two free four?
Me: No, just one.
B: ENIMEM!!! food jop! *walks away*

Thanks for listening!

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