It started at 3 a.m. Nothing good ever starts at 3 a.m. The baby woke up wanting to gab and acting as if it was time to get up. I knew this because he was chanting “mama” in my face and blowing raspberries on my breasts. This was followed by the discovery that Nora’s light was on. So I ventured down the hallway and asked her to put clothes on and go back to sleep. I stopped to use the bathroom and debated whether or not I should just wake up. (“When in doubt, just wake up.” I’m thinking that’s my new motto. That and, “The question isn’t “should we make coffee?” but “where is the coffee?””)

A bottle, diaper change, pacing and burping, followed by bouncing on my lap and rocking him while humming “La Vie En Rose” and he’s asleep. Nora crawled into bed with Jamie and proceeded to throw a temper tantrum on par with the Julia Roberts diabetic seizure in the salon scene from Steel Magnolias. This went on for about an hour with her crying out for me and insisting, “I CAN DO IT MYSELF!!!” repeatedly through sobbing hiccups. She’s asleep now. So is Jamie. Everyone is asleep and I’m stranded on the couch holding a sleeping baby.

Is it too early to drink?

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