Yawn.

I'm cranky today.

I went through my Instagram yesterday afternoon and just scrolled through all my old pictures of Bennett as a newborn. I got all sentimental and sad and wanted my newborn baby back for like... a day. I found myself missing the teeny-tiny little 6 pound, 11 ounce bundle of adorable that would let me sit and hold him all day long. 

OMFG. Squee.

Anyway.

The LOLLLL gods heard me yesterday, I think, because last night I got my newborn back.

Only instead of shrinking back down to newborn size, all I got was my big fat seven-month-old with newborn sleeping habits.

THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.

I love Sleep. I've always loved Sleep. Sleep and I go well together. Sleep is the peanut butter to my jelly. The mac to my cheese. All that other shit from Juno. That kid who knocked her up? I feel towards Sleep the way Juno felt towards that kid.

Until this past year. This past year, Sleep and I have hit a rough patch, and I'm thinking Sleep has decided it wants to leave me and move on for some other woman. Some other woman who's nicer and not insane from the lack Sleep putting out.

First comes the big fat pregnant lack of sleep. You're massive and swollen and all of your joints hurt and you can't get comfortable and if you DO manage to finally doze off, you wake yourself up fifteen minutes later because, for the first time in your life, you snore like a man with sleep apnea. Even if you don't wake YOURSELF up with said man snores, your significant other will shove you and tell you to roll over. Then you're up and massive and swollen and hurty-jointed and uncomfortable all over again and you get up and go watch Grey's Anatomy on Netflix on the couch at three o'clock in the morning instead. You'll hear, "Sleep while you can!" from every woman who's ever birthed a child ahead of you EVER, and you will want to punch every single one of those women in the throat because YOU KNOW AND YOU TRY BUT YOU CAN'T SO FUCK OFF WITH YOUR ADVICE LADY.

Then comes the "I have a newborn" lack of sleep. This kind of sleepless daze is okay for roughly a week, because for that first week, you don't want to sleep. All you want to do is stare at the tiny little human you created in awe and wonder how the hell it fit in you and how the hell you managed to get it out. You don't want to miss him breathing, or him hiccuping, or him peeking out of one eye so you can yell to your husband,
"LOOK HOW CUTE HE IS WHEN HE OPENS HIS EEEEEYES."

After the first week, you become a greasy haired ball curled in the corner of the bathroom clad in four-day-old, vomit-caked yoga pants crying because you don't remember how to turn the shower on. 

After eight weeks, you want nothing more than to toss your baby over the balcony because he has colic and you haven't slept in 72 hours and you hate your life. (Disclaimer, I would never throw my baby over a balcony.)

Then, the newborn phase subsides, your baby starts sleeping longer than two hour stretches, and you start to feel somewhat normal again.

But. If you're me, you're not done yet.

Because, if you're me, you have to take Zoloft to keep from tearing people's faces off. And Zoloft will give you insomnia.

Thus, then comes the "I'm on crazy pills and crazy pills give me insomnia" lack of sleep. And that, friends, you just gotta get used to.

Pair up insomnia with your child waking up screaming every time you manage to even remotely drift off (for no reason, I might add), and you have a very cranky blogger mom the next morning. 

Thankfully, there is coffee, and there are sweet little baby smiles, and that makes Sleep seem not nearly as important as it used to be.

It's been real, Sleep. Maybe we'll catch up in 18 years.

Back by popular demand...?

So I used to blog.
Like a lot.

I had a pretty decent fan base, if you'll allow me to brag for a moment. If you can call them "fans," anyway. Actually, I wouldn't so much call them "fans" as "people I know on Facebook who read a link I shared and told me I was funny."

ANYWAY.
And then I had a kid.
And stopped having time.

I attempted to start a blog when my son was roughly a month old. I think I got two posts in and then he developed colic.
Yeah.
Fuck colic.

I wanted to keep track of memories, milestones, and all the amusing happenings that go on with my child, but I don't think I fully prepared myself for the amount of time and energy this tiny little helpless human being would require.
He's seven months old and I'm just now finding myself able to sit down and do this, and that's only because he's spending the night with my mother-in-law. Otherwise, I'd be sitting here (and that's even if I'd decided I wanted to attempt it with him anywhere near me) fighting an infant over the keyboard and losing. The speed in which he can grab something (anything) and get it into his mouth is astounding to me.

So I figured I'd give this a go tonight because I've ingested three or four Bud Lights (and that makes me chatty) and because I'd like to try to keep track of things that happen in my life (and also because my husband just dropped an unmentionable amount of money on a new computer and I like the way the keyboard is all clicky and professional sounding). I used to blog about my life with my husband, my best friend, and my cats.

Now it's the mom life, m'effers.

Don't get me wrong - I'm sure at some point in time there will be entries regarding things other than poop, snot, and vomit (LIKE CATS), but hey. Motherhood more or less consumes me. I'm a stay at home mom who spends 98% of my waking hours with my kid. What the hell else is there to write about?

But FEAR NOT - he is amusing and is constantly giving me something to talk about. Like the fact that it doesn't matter what kind of diaper I put on him, we are both covered in poop at least twice a day.
See? That makes for interesting conversation, right?
Maybe not.
BUT STILL. I'll try my hardest to be entertaining. Promise.

If all else fails, I'll just show you pictures of him.

BECAUSE SERIOUSLY.

And, just for old times' sake, here's a picture of a kitten.

You're welcome.