When the going gets tough…

(or, cough-y, as the case may be)…

… the tough drag the guest room mattress into their baby’s room because three nights of no sleep is too much to bear. I figure this is better than an emergency ugly-ass-but-totally-comfy Lazboy recliner purchase so I can doze while holding my grumpy, clingy snot-machine.

My husband thinks I’m crazy. I am too tired to honor that with a response.

Just wait until he comes back upstairs and finds out he’s going to Walgreens to clear the shelves of anything hippie-ish that might help a coughing baby.

(For what’s it worth, I don’t think this came from daycare. Not that it matters at 3:00 AM, but hey. Also, my kid’s also in one of those Wonder Weeks developmental crap stages, so he’d be sleeping less even if he wasn’t coughing up mucus. Lovely.

Note: the title of the Wonder Weeks book makes it sound like you have to DO something upon reading it, but I find it comforting to be reminded why my previously-happy-sleeper of a son is now throwing parties from 2:30 to 5:00 AM. I gave up and sprung him from his crib last night to do what he pleased while I quietly moaned in exhaustion from the glider. When I opened my eyes five minutes later, he’d created Baby Mayhem a la a rock star hotel room trashing. Books everywhere, clothes everywhere, and a maniacal grin on his face. It was awesome, or would have been had I not just wanted to go to sleep.

Last sleep-deprived thought for the night: is this my karmic payback for finally reading the “Go the F*ck to Sleep” book?)

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