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Sleep Deprivation and Torture by TV

I'm a little cranky. 

Ask my mom.  She came over today to help out and got an earful about things that are bothering me--all of them completely reasonable, I'm sure.

But here's what I'm facing.  Sleep in 1 - 2 1/2 hour bursts.  Life as a milk station . . . and a rocker (not the cool Foo Fighters kind) . . . and a butt wiper. 

It's been 5 years since I've done this, and I think I must have been a calmer, less irritable, saint-type of person way back then.  Either that or I've blocked it from memory because of the indelible trauma.

All I know is that right now I feel a little crazy and a lot irritable.  Of course, I'm fully convinced everything that's irritating me is 110% justifiable. 

Take for instance, late night TV.  Bleary-eyed and desperate, here's the type of stirring line-up I'm scrolling through on the Directv Guide at 2 in the morning:

• Ahh!!!  Zombies!!!
• World's Safest Chainsaw
• 24 Ladders in One
• Zombie Honeymoon
• Hairy Bikers
• Ticked Off Trannies with Knives (my personal favorite)

Talk about irritating.  I can't work with this kind of "entertainment."  How am I supposed to willingly wake up and feed this little bugger if there's nothing to actually keep me awake?  I have a half a mind to write the dang executives at Directv and berate them for their lack of imaginative programming (because, no, I do not find fifteen versions of Zombie-related shows imaginative). 

But you know what?  They're probably all MALES and have no idea what it's like to be up at 2am feeding a baby.  They're all sleeping like rocks and completely unaware there's any problem . . . which, incidently, could lead into just ONE facet of another topic of irritation.  But I won't go there . . .

Because I may be just a little bit crazy right now.  Just maybe.

Happy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day has been good.  My husband organized the whole meal with my mother-in-law and my mom, and I didn't have to do a single thing. 

I'm thankful for such a good family . . . and, of course, for my drill press.

Camden Craig Jackson

With a reckless abandon, Camden arrived Nov. 9th at 9:26am. 

I like him SO much better outside of my belly.

Now to figure out the magic ratio of sleeplessness-to-sanity . . .

Could It All Be a Hoax?

Over the past week, I've started to wonder--as many of you might have--if this whole pregnancy is some cruel hoax.

A few of the more reasonable people in my life have tried to remind me of the simple facts:

1. I, and other witnesses, have repeatedly heard a heartbeat in my massively swollen belly.
2. There is frequent, spastic, and painful movement in said belly.
3. A fully accredited doctor seems convinced a baby is in there and will be coming out.

BUT--call me crazy . . .  or perhaps sleep-deprived and miserable. . . I've seriously begun to wonder.  Do you think maybe there's a puppy in there instead?  Or an elephant?  Elephants have a gestational period of 22 months, you know.

Or is it possible I'm not pregnant at all and have a raging, other-worldly tumor which can mimic a human heartbeat?

Between the constant self-anticipation and the overwhelming number of people asking if he's here yet, I may check myself into a facility for the mentally insane.  Or maybe I'll just go ahead and hope for a puppy.  They're cute.