Last night I paid a visit to my friend Christina and her husband Scott, who just returned home from the hospital after having their second baby. Of course I planned on bringing my usual delectable post-baby culinary delight - a cornucopia of Chicken McNuggets and gallon of Diet Dr. Pepper.
But Nick spent enough time berating (me) the idea that I gave in and broke out the recipe book. And when I say broke out I mean dusted off and dodged the moths as they caught their first glimpse of daylight. Until now the recipe book was just a facade - window dressing in my masquerade of pretending like I don't spend my afternoons watching television shows that determine paternity.
After a significant amount of browsing I chose a palate pleasing cuisine - tater tot casserole. Because anything with tater tot in the title screams sophistication. Also it was the shortest recipe in the book.
I'll spare you the details but I will just tell you that it did not go smoothly. Being as it was only the second time I've made dinner using an actual recipe with ingredients and measuring cups and stuff, I was an hour and a half late. By the time I finally walked in the door the baby had grown a beard and the dog was gnawing on Christina's femur.
After dinner we were making small talk and I casually asked how they were getting along.
"Fine, but it's a lot more challenging because when he doesn't sleep at night the other one's awake during the day and there's no time for rest."
On the way home something in my brain started furiously tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me of the mind bending exhaustion of a new baby and asking me how I'm going to possibly survive without the promise of at least one afternoon nap to recover from a sleepless night.
When I was pregnant everyone warned me about how bad the sleeplessness would be. I shrugged it off - I've been tired plenty of times before. Once in college I only got four hours of sleep and I had to wake up and go to Spanish class before I was able to get back to my dorm for my morning nap.
Thanks for the advice but I know how to handle being tired, people.
About three days after we brought Ellie home I took my oath of office as Mayor of Crazyville. My first order of business was to spend afternoons lying on the floor eating my hair and petting the cute little bunnies that flew through my chimney.
I don't do well with no sleep.
And now I'm panicking.
What the hell was I thinking getting pregnant again? Whose dumb ass, horrible, ill-thought-out idea was this? I can't go back there... sleep deprived Hannah teeters on the verge of doing very bad things to people in nursing homes.
Excuse me, conductor, can you please stop the train? I'd like to get off. Or, better yet, can you just please push me into a drug induced coma and wake me up once the baby sleeps all night like a normal human being? What the hell is wrong with babies anyway, that they don't like to sleep?
This baby better be really fucking cute.
Look out, Crazyville. 7 weeks until the mayor is back in town. At least I've got good friends who will bring me some Chicken McNuggets.