And now: another journal entry in the life of “I’m up in the wee hours of the morning and it’s so not exciting but I’m writing it anyway.

I am seriously exhausted. Baba woke up between 12:30 and 2am, and half the time he was cooing in his sleep, which required Hubby or myself to rush in there and shove a pacifier in his mouth, simply because if he keeps up the sleep-cooing, he’ll wake himself up and be majestically put out. So we’re both tired.

But on the whole we had a good weekend at home, which for us has been a rare thing lately, because our home, in the midst of renovation, is not always pleasant. I bought Freebird a much-adored toy on eBay, so his weekend was made extra more awesome by the electronic stylings of the Wiggles play along guitar. Baba was happy to practice sitting up and playing with his baby toys - he’s of an age where he’s into toys. Oh, the long slide that begins now.

But soon our weekends will be filled with one or the other of us traveling. I go to a conference in a little under a week; Hubby takes a long weekend in Vegas at the end of the month. In the middle is Passover, which, dammit dammit dammit, is on a weekend this year (BOOOOOO!) and through all that I have a mammoth writing project underway.

I’m looking into ways to train my body to need less sleep, but so far, my solutions are chemical, and too much caffeine tends to make a strung out nutcase out of me. I need to need less sleep, even as I need more sleep.

Last night, Hubby was up from 230 to 3, then I got up at 3 and relieved him so he could get away from the bleating of the unhappy Baba O’Riley, who had a fever, couldn’t keep Tylenol down, and was generally awake and miserable until about 3.45. I took him downstairs for the bleating period and was treated to the following.

Morag: Shhhhh. Shhhhh. *contemplates whether the pacifying effects of Baby Einstein: Baby Mozart are a good idea at 3am. Probably not.*

Baba O’Riley: I AM MAD. I DON’T FEEL GOOD. I AM HOT. I AM MAD. BLEEEEEAAAAAAT. BLEEEEEEEEEAAAAAT. AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO SIT DOWN. I WANT TO WALK AROUND AND BE HELD UPRIGHT AND LOOK AT EVERYTHING. I AM MAD! MAD, I TELL YOU! WAAAAAAAAAH!

Morag: OMG. It is 3 am and I’m carrying around a ~20 pound baby. I will probably not get any more sleep. I wonder how badly I’ll function tomorrow having started my day three hours early? Dude, you are heavy. SHHHHHHHHHH!

Baba O’Riley: WOMAN I TELL YOU AGAIN! I AM HOT! I DON’T FEEL GOOD! I AM HOT! BLEEEEEAAAAT! NO! NO SITTING DOWN! I WILL START TO FALL ASLEEP AND THEN I WILL KICK YOU IN THE ARM! WHAT A GREAT IDEA! KICK KICK KICK BLEAT BLEAT BLEAT KICK KICK KICK BLEEEEAAAAAT!

Morag: This sucks.

Eventually Baba passed out, Hubby put him in the crib successfully without waking him up, and we all went back to sleep. Six am arrived way too damn soon for us, and Baba, the lucky boy, slept until nearly 7.

I hope he does that sleeping thing, minus the bleating, tomorrow morning. 

1. Easter: “Freebird! It’s Easter! Some people celebrate today, and dress up and go to a special church service, and there are flowers and songs and celebrations of spring. And there’s chocolate.”

Freebird: “CHOCOLATE?!”

And there was chocolate (courtesy of daycare, who do beautiful baskets for the children) and all was happy in our world.

2. Except for the crusty, pus-evident ear that I suspect may be caused by a ruptured eardrum (if you’re keeping score at home, that’s 2 for Freebird) and a trip to the emergency clinic in Connecticut, plus a 102.9 fever Saturday night, and the general orneryness and sleepyness and long ass nap that made him stay up until 10pm last night so today he is something of a cranky mess.

3. But there was chocolate so all is well. Baba, for the record, is SO interactive and SO interested in talking to everyone, he gets PISSED if there isn’t enough attention directed his way. I don’t know if he wanted chocolate, but damn he wanted folks to tell him about it. So I assume that once he can eat, he will be all about the chocolate. Which is good and right.

4. Last night, one of us had gas. I’m not going to say which one. But at one point, Hubby said, “Was that a Blackberry or a really long fart?”

5. If you don’t get the joke: we keep our Bbys on vibrate.

6. The kitchen reno progresses. We still have no kitchen. BUT! We are hosting a crapload of dudes this weekend. How fun will that be? Commence ordering in. A LOT of it.

7. We are working on a redesign for The Other Site, and it’s going to go live soon. I am so excited. Seriously, so excited to see it.

8. Also, I had a great talk with Hubby about how to strengthen the business end of The Other Site so that I can figure out ways to increase revenue and offset my expenses while keeping the site attractive to advertisers.

9. Note to self: talk to Hubby more this week. We are like two ships passing in the harbor all the time, and we need to sit down and face each other. Not easy to do when you eat hunched over a coffee table.

Six months ago today, I went into the Hotel Percocet, aka the hospital, labored all day, watched Pirates of the Caribbean, experienced my blood pressure dropping to an absolutely delightful low that made me feel utterly craptastic, was wheeled into the OR, and one quick abdominal incision later, I had a big bouncing baby Baba.

Happy Six Month Birthday, Baba O’Riley. You’re awesome. 

I had a really strange but vivid dream on Saturday night that I was in labor with our third child. I was trying to convince the nurse in the room to just tell me when the c-section would be already so I could write it down in my calendar (ever anal-retentive, even when in dream labor) because I knew I’d be having one, since Baba was a c-section.

She refused to tell me, and so I hung out on the bed, laboring away, wondering HOW in the WORLD I’d become pregnant. Then I thought: “But I do get four days in the hospital....”

Seriously. That’s how tired I am. I’m dreaming about having more children so I can spend 4 days sleeping in the hospital. That hospital where I had Baba? It was nice. Hubby thinks I’m nuts to dream about being in the hospital, but he didn’t have room service that came with free narcotics on command, so he can be forgiven for not understanding how it would be a dream-worthy experience.

So yeah, I’m tired. More teething awakeness between 3 and 4am, with both boys waking up at 615am. Poor Hubby. Both were ornery, too.

Dear Teething:

You suck.

Love,
Mórag

Dear Sleep:

I miss you. Come back?

Love,
Mórag

Dear Bed:

I miss you, too. The glider chair is not as comfortable as you. I can’t sleep there, though I did try, since Baba couldn’t sleep if I wasn’t holding him.

Soon we’ll be together,
Mórag

Dear Baba:

Teething does indeed suck, doesn’t it? I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry I couldn’t either. Soon you’ll have teeth. Then you’ll cut some more. And we’ll do this all again until you’re about 3. Ask your brother - it sucks no matter where the teeth come in. But I’m ready. With Tylenol. And bourbon (for me).

Love you,
Mama

Dear Freebird:

Thank you from the bottom of my tired, tired heart for sleeping through ALL of your brother’s all-night crying, cooing, moaning, and grunting. I hope you slept well. And I hope you’re not teething.

Love you,
Mama

Dear Hubby:

That sucked. We’ll sleep eventually. Like, when our boys are teenagers that sleep till noon and we wonder why they sleep so damn much and eat the rest of the time.

Love you,
Mórag

Dear coffee:

I love you. I love you. I love you I love you. More, please?

Love,
Mórag

Yet Another entry Where agaiN I’m tired.

1. Stayed up until the memoriam part of the Oscars. God that was stupid. Heath Ledger is still dead, as are some other people I didn’t realize had died, and Baba O’Riley woke up at 3am for a brief cooing party that lasted until I changed his diaper, permitted him some time to chew on his bare feet before I put his jammies back on, and then rocked him to sleep while stroking his cheek. If it weren’t for the part where I was so exhausted it was painful to be awake, I would have enjoyed it A Lot.

2. Pass the coffee. Pass more. Thanks.

3. I hadn’t seen a single one of the movies nominated. There were some I hadn’t heard of. It was like watching the Grammies, except I knew who most of the people were, even if the movies themselves were a mystery to me.

4. Javier Bardem is from Canarias, aka the Canary Islands, and as such speaks Castillian Spanish, complete with lisp. I hate to sound like a language snob, but I was so excited and relieved to find that I understood 90% of what he was saying in Spanish to his mother (he dedicated his award to her, his grandparents, her grandparents, and all the people of Spain) because when I speak in Spanish nowadays, it’s usually to folks from South America or Central America. The accent and even the lexicon are so different, I have a very hard time understanding folks speaking at full speed when they are from Ecuador, Colombia, or Brazil. The folks I have the easiest time understanding are Cuban, not that I meet many of them. But to hear Javier (not “Xavier,” Regis, you putz) Bardem bust out with the Castellano made me a very happy Morag indeed. I haven’t forgotten as much as I thought I had.

5. Alert! I shall now break one of Morag’s Laws and speak of The Family. Enjoy.

6. Hubby’s aunt said something so stunning to me, there’s a part of my brain that’s still reeling that the words hit the air and were therefore spoken aloud. To me. While discussing that is is sometimes a challenge to parent a toddler, she said, “Oh, but this age is so much fun. But I had it better than you because I was home with my children full time and could enjoy them more.”

7. My immediate reaction: Laugh. So outrageous I can’t believe those words hit air for public enjoyment. Now? My inner child is busy consoling my inner mommy, who is very upset.

8. Reminds me of that song from 1997: “Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.”

9. It wasn’t so much advice as it was thoughtless heartlessness, but still, I’m sure there were moments of parenting in the past that might have made her want to tear her hair out. But 30+ years later, you remember the good parts.

10. Here’s a good part: we do Friday sabbath dinners together as a family (Jewish sabbath starts Friday at sundown) and this week we all huddled around the coffee table in the living room, since the kitchen is demolished and the dining room is now the kitchen. After saying the blessing over the candles, which signals the start of Shabbat (the sabbath), Hubby and I usually kiss both boys and wish them “Shabbat shalom” (Peaceful sabbath). This week, after I said the blessing, Freebird stood up and yelled, “Shabbat shalom!” and gave both of us kisses, then blew a kiss to Baba O’Riley. This is a very long story to say, “Freebird gave us both a kiss!” but the fact that he enjoys our Friday night dinners and likes to do the steps of making that dinner special meant a lot to me.

11. I’m tired. Have I mentioned?