Night Owl

What is sleep?
Who even does that?

I couldn’t shut my eyes last night. I had called our night early around ninethirty-ish, hoping to cuddle with, J. Well yea, that’s rare in wanting to and asking. Hoping to have Arty down for a somewhat early night was unsuccessful. Arty spent at least fortyfive minutes rolling and whining because we refused to keep the torch light on, but she finally gave in and fell asleep in my arms, in our bed. Transferring her to her bed, might have hurt me, considering the fact that I’m almost twentyseven weeks pregnant (almost seven months).

The clock striked twelve and I was trying to toss and turn (it’s a lot harder when your belly is in the way, lol). I heard Apollo coughing here, and there so it made me even more worried. His fever has been fairly mild, which is good. But still a worry when you’re a mom. Threethirty came, and Arty was due for some milk. I had to ask, J, to fetch it because my back was just being a pest, and I couldn’t get myself up. On his way back from the bathroom, I asked if he could check on Apollo’s fever. Do not attempt to wake-up a sleeping bear. If, and when they do, they will resent you for it with hasbrowns and coffee for breakfast. J, returned groaning he had no fever.

fourthirty came, and Apollo’s coughing sounded more frequent, I figured it was time for more vicks and medicine. So I got up, in the time it took me to, and headed to his room, not until after I visited the bathroom of course, because my bladder after getting out of bed or the couch seems to be like a running faucet at this point. He was up, from when J, came to check on him. I had proceeded to do what I needed to and filled up the dehumidifier to help with his breathing. He slept well after that.

It was past fourfifty, I tried not to consume myself with my phone, but it was a lot harder to stop thinking, when you’re just laying there than it is when you’re busy watching other people’s lives. Facebook, Instagram, and occasional Pinterest (social life of a stay home mom). It’s fivefifteen and Arty is due for another bottle to quench her thirst, because she sleeps with her mouth open. It’s hereditary, her father does the same.

I got up unwillingly around ninefortyfive, just before J left. Arty ate the hashbrown, J left for me. Now, the day begins…

xoxo, Mom.