gabba gabba hey

this week, the bear hath eaten of mine flesh.

I am so goddamned exhausted.

Sam is having some weird 3-4am wake up period where he’ll whimper himself awake, then ask to get in the big bed with us.

I don’t begrudge the kid his cuddles- in face I am a firm believer in cuddles to chase the frights off.

But the regularity, the consistency of the waking is a bit trying on my own sleep- especially since some mornings I have trouble getting back to sleep myself once I’ve tended to him. When I have, I have awoken in great pain and muscular discomfort from trying to fit my vast girth on the very edge of the bed while he takes up part of my space and Annika the rest (she having either migrated there to get away from the baby trying to sleep-nurse, or because she is a bed hog, evidence inconclusive at this time).

This morning, after 3 or 4 consecutive pre-dawn whimper-awakes, I tumbled from bed when he started quietly sobbing, comforted him to fully awake, then escorted him into the big bed, per the usual. I may or may not have whispered a few silent entreaties to Morpheus to BACK ME THE FUCK UP HERE, MAN, but soon enough Sam was snug in bed, cuddling his mama (snoring softly, as is her wont) and I- after downing 6 advil to cope with the horrible pain in my side from already sleeping in an awkward position- prepared to do the same again.

Only Sam was awake. Wide awake.

I drifted a little, was vaguely cognizent of him trying to wake up his mom. She passed the buck to me (think she used the baby as excuse, can’t be sure since I’m reeling from sleep dep: as I stumbled to bed last night I calculated around 10 hours sleep in a 48 hr period- so now we’re looking at 15 hours spread over the last 3 nights) and so I stumbled into the living room with Sam.

He was awake, and wanted me to make coffee. Ok, I did so. Then he wanted me to help him draw.

He has recently discovered that he loves drawing. This being Sam, the drawback tends to be that he really wants YOU (i.e. me, aunt K, Annika) to draw and he’ll add some yellow flourishes. Still, it is a great interest for a 4 year old to have. But at 4:49am, I’m not real focused on art.

Fortunately, Auntie K and he had started a sketch of The Incredible Hulk last night before he went to bed, so I filled in the purple pants and with Sam’s help added a touch of yellow to the Hulk’s green skin (seriously, the kid loves the yellow crayon).

Then Sam wanted to admire the rest of the Superheroes he and K have been drawing (Batman, Iron Man, Spiderman, and Hellboy) and I had to gently dissuade him from turning on all the lights, since his Aunt sleeps upstairs in the open loft and was probably gritting her teeth and praying for a cone of silence since she has to work today…

And then he wanted to go back to bed. And I have no idea if he is asleep or terrorizing his mother and sister and should probably go check on them but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I need a break from sleep dep.

Thusly: I want cold beer and a cheeseburger. Yes, at 5:45 in the morning. It is my comfortiest comfort food, and believe you me: if I had the fixings for either I’d be all over that shit.

Good Beer- Bad Dream

Last night- after having no beer at all- I dreamed that I was contacted by the Guinness brewery.

They wanted me to head up a new kind of dock operation, and also moonlight as an internal form of security.

“Who better to tell us how to spot beer thieves than a- shall we say reformed- beer thief?” they told me.

So I relocated the entire family to Ireland, where we would live in a bigger-than-small cottage some miles from the famous brewery of the good, thick, dark beer.

On my first day at work, they gave me a six-pack of Bud Light Lime as a welcoming gift.

The halls ran wet with blood.