Sleepless in the City

Close your eyes and picture this: it's 2 a.m., you're awake, bloodshot eyes, empty bottles laying around, people passed out nearby and puke on your shirt.

College party, right?

Nope.

Not even close. It's what I like to call life. At least what my life looks like at 2 a.m.

I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. I love these little girls. So much that I haven't slept for more than 5 hours straight since September. And never once regretted it.

But some days the exhaustion is so deep, I can feel it in my bones. It's something I fully expected. In fact, I spent the majority of my second trimester asleep trying to log as many hours as I could — knowing I would be sitting here in this chair, eyelids barely open, fondly remembering the luxury of just deciding it was time to sleep and sleeping.

(By the way, to all of you who go to sleep every night and wake up every morning feeling refreshed, bite me. )

Although I expected to be tired, there is one thing I never expected to happen. But it did. And I'm not even that ashamed of it.

During the early feeding this morning, Grace spit up on my shirt. And not just a little spittle. A pretty good area of my shirt was wet with her puke. But I had to finish the feeding. My shirt could wait.

Fast forward about 20 minutes when they finally finished up. I put them back to sleep, got a glass of water and collapsed on the bed. And that's when I remembered it — the puke. I laid there for a solid two minutes debating whether I should pull myself out of bed to change my shirt. It was a hard decision. Lay in puke for the next three hours or just get up? Stay or go. Go or stay.

And that's one more thing the drunk college kid and the worn-out mom have in common. We both wait until morning.