It’s 2:52 AM in this part of the world (the Colorado part), and I have gotten– waaaait for it– a record of ZERO hours of sleep, everyone! I suppose this spacey, disembodied, flu-like feeling isn’t what people are referring to when they talk about that elusive “second wind.”

The children are at it again. They are relentless in their joint efforts to see their mother go bonkers from lack of sleep. Tonight it was a symphony of coughing, hacking, and gagging. Together they serenaded me with a beautiful ballad of phlegm. It brought tears to my eyes, really.

No, seriously. There has got to be something wrong with my and Doug’s combined DNA that makes for adorable, brilliant, and incredibly sickly children. Cypher couldn’t even wait four weeks before he caught his first cold. Way to go, breast milk. Everyone’s always talking about how good you are for children. Ohhhh, breast milk is best! Breast milk is mother nature’s cure! Breast milk can kill demons! Baloney, I say! BALONEY! (See how I spelled that out phonetically for you? Even when I’m sleep deprived, I’m considerate. That, and gorgeous.)

Any old who, somewhere around 1:30 or so, it occurred to me that I may never get sleep again, so I thought I’d write one last blog post before I go insane. I mean, I’m sure I’ll post again once I’m insane, but the blog is sure to take on a more somber tone when that happens.

Where to begin? Well, let’s start with the obvious. Having two kids is infinitely more demanding than having one. Having one kid is like losing your pinky toe. Sure, you notice it. But you can still function with certain limitations. Having two kids, however, is like losing both your pinky toes and then getting slapped in the face with a big sea bass/being repeatedly gored in a stampede of bulls/head banging to Metallica for eight straight hours/standing in line at the DMV for all eternity. Yeah, I think that’s a fair comparison.

Well, alright. Maybe I’m overstating just a touch. But the point is, it’s a massive undertaking. I’m quickly realizing that sleep and showers are luxuries I must do without. One day, when I’m old and gray, I’ll look back on these days and think, “Just look how far we’ve come.” And when Fable and Cypher bring their kids to see me, I’ll be grateful the wards let me have visitors in the asylum…

Uh, what else? That’s it, really. Sorry for ending this post so abruptly, but it’s 3:30 and I can’t think of anything else to say.

I love ‘em.

Cypher is the snuggliest, most adorable little man on the planet. His dad isn’t bad, either. 

Never in my life did I think I would be so happy or calm, or sleep deprived. 

<3

Here we are, February 8, 2012. We are about to have a baby– again. What a surreal experience this is, especially compared with the first time around.

My sister-in-law, Amber, shared this on Facebook a few days ago. It’s so poignant, and very accurately reflects the way I felt when we had Fay.

Here is an excerpt:

The earth shakes when the doctor places your firstborn in your arms. Your love for him is colored by terror because you are positive that he is going to die with each passing minute. You bring him home understanding that the Universe has made a mistake, that someone more qualified, more motherly will show up to retrieve him soon. So while you wait, you play house for awhile. You hold him with trembling, clutching, sweaty hands. You still do. You do not trust that he will be able to navigate his world. You eye his doctors, his playmates, his teachers, even his grandparents with great suspicion. Will they be gentle enough with him? He is so sensitive.

What you really mean is: I am so sensitive. I’m like Lazarus, fresh from the tomb, eyes burning from the sun’s brightness. I can’t handle the ferocity and fragility of this new love. Please be careful with us.

You think if you just hold his hand tight enough, read the right books, choose the right foods, choose the right schools … if you just hold your breath forever … it’ll be okay. You’re not sure what that is anymore. Maybe okay means you’ll succeed at keeping him and the world apart forever. Maybe it just means that you’ll both survive this love, this love so intense it threatens to consume you both like a fire.

There is something about this quote that really stirs me:

He is a poor son whose sonship does not make him desire to serve all men’s mothers.  ~Harry Emerson Fosdick

Every day that passes, I become increasingly convinced that Cypher is never going to make his debut.

I will join the circus. The Ever Pregnant Woman! I’ll be carrying him around when he’s a full grown adult. It’s going to be the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen.

In other news, Fable has hit her cuteness stride. She could kill a unicorn with one well-timed smile.

She is also now the Queen of I Don’t Want To.

“Fable, it’s time to put your sweater on.”

- “But I don’twaaaaanttoooooooo.”

“Fable, do you want a sandwich?”

- “I don’twaaaaaaaanttoooooo.”

“Fable, should we put an end to global famine?”

- “Noooo, I don’twaaaaantooooo!” (Apparently, I’m raising a monster.)

And so on and so forth. I find myself saying things only old people say.

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to,” is the phrase that most easily escapes my lips when I’ve had a full day of whining. And that’s just a ridiculous way for an adult to respond to a toddler. Who has two thumbs and accuses a two-year-old of committing a logical fallacy? This girl.

But nonetheless, she continues to find ways to wriggle her tiny, warm little self into my heart.

She’s kind of like a puppy, only less furry.

Anyway, that’s it. Nothing profound or funny or new. Just waiting for this newest addition to our family to arrive. Hoping it’s soon.

Because if you decide that today’s the day, I’m not going to fare too well.

Today was one of those days when I really wanted to distract Jesus with something shiny/someone famous so I could punch a bunch of mortals in the face without Him noticing.

I started to write a full-length post about it, but it only highlighted how cantankerous and crotchety I’ve become, so I decided against it. I like to present my most flattering angles to my readers, and it probably wouldn’t serve that end if I described how satisfying it is for me to imagine myself throttling people.

What’s that over there, Jesus?! Is that the Pope?!

*Punches self in brain*