Sleep? What's that? I haven't slept through the night since December. Lately, there's been even less to go around, what with the baby treating my bladder like a punching bag. Waking me out of any kind of slumber is like breaking into a hibernating bear's cave and pelting its face with rocks. I suggest you do that . . . never.
This morning, after being awake for a 2.5 hour streak in the middle of the night (along with the usual 7 trips to the loo), I was rudely surprised by a flying elbow to my lower back. Having finally fallen back asleep just an hour before, I opened one squinty eye and prayed I was confusing a loving back rub for the violent wake-up call. The tap-tap-tap of Una's Blackberry informed me I was not.
Needless to say, the ensuing conversation did not go well for anyone involved.
After Una scampered out of the house in primal fear to get cereal and "anything I needed for breakfast," the door bell rang. Sauntering over in my Giants belly-baring tee shirt (it's Jon's and still not long enough to cover the beast) and a highly-unflattering, calf-length pair of striped pajama pants, I was greeted by a bouquet of Mother's Day flowers and a beaming delivery man.
Well-played, Una. Well-played.
Defcon 1 emotional crisis averted.
Happy Mother's Day everyone, and a happy early 30th birthday to my dear, dear loving Una.