I love sleep. Why don’t my children?

Facebook recently reminded me that Lorelei did not sleep completely through the night until she was almost two years old. How depressing. Rowan slept for five hours once, but it wasn’t the most useful time slot, since it started at 7:30pm. I seem to have forgotten how to sleep, anyway.

Some mixture of teething and post-nasal drip has turned Rowan into a dissatisfied cranky-pants all night long. He soothes by nursing, and then gags because he can’t breathe through his nose, so he decides to have a 3am dance party. I dream about how tired I am. I can’t even dream about sleep without it being stressful.

The bags under my eyes will come in handy for carrying towels and lounge chairs the next time we go to the beach. Maybe I could market them as a new type of baby carrier. I’ll call it Kangaroo Eyes (patent not pending). I could plant flowers in them – spruce up my face a bit. Fill them with water and make a bird bath.

Or maybe I will pull them over my head to create a sleeping bag, and take a nice long nap.

The first person who reminds me that “they are only young once” is getting an envelope full of extra-sticky glitter in the mail.