When you have a brand-new baby, everyone wants to know how the baby sleeps. I've been blessed, 5 times, with really good sleepers. Patrick, the oldest, was difficult to put to sleep, but would then go down for a solid 13 hours (where I would repeatedly make sure he was still breathing). The others, as infants, were great, right from the start.
The problem, now, lies with the odds. Odds are, one child won't wake up in the middle of the night too often. Maybe once a week that child might wake up for a glass of water or to be comforted after a bad dream. When there are five children involved, however, things change. Somehow, there is some exponential shift in how many times someone will wake me up at night.
Someone wants a glass of water. Bleary-eyed, I plod to the kitchen to honor the request. Inevitably, no one else will wake up until I return to bed and make myself comfortable. Someone else has just had a nightmare and can only be soothed by a glass of chocolate milk. I curse you, Hershey's Syrup.
Situations like this go on all week. Sometimes it's a nightmare or extreme thirst. Sometimes someone just wants to chat at 3 am. It doesn't help that I married a man capable of sleeping through Armageddon. And I'm pretty sure the kids have orchestrated some evil plan to wear me down enough that I finally say yes to Chuck E. Cheese (oh, how I despise that place). Whatever it is, there is one saving grace.
Coffee.
I get made fun of daily for carting around my EXTRA large from Dunkin Donuts. My coworkers know that there is something wrong if that giant Styrofoam cup isn't in my hand. Thank you to whomever decided to roast, grind and brew those little beans with hot water. That and some good make-up allow me to function as almost human in society.
So here I sit, with my first cup of the day. A steamy helping of survival.
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| This is what I bought to hang in my kitchen. Appropriate! |
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