I’m tired.  Like bone tired.  Max is keeping me up all night again.

I keep hearing Air Supply playing in my head.

“I’m all out of love, I’m so lost without you…”

I have no clue how that got in there, but it’s not going away.

Max is in his crib, happily playing by himself, but wide eyed and well, happily playing.

I want to go to sleep before our midnight through 5 am lovefest where I really regret ever starting to breastfeed because Sparky gets to sleep through his nights.

I’m so tired the bags under my eyes start at my nose and work their way out.

The Kablooey room is almost done.  It’s done enough that I can really screw it up if I don’t pay attention to the details, much like my grasp of the German language. Did the catholic lady have friends help her move or take off her clothes.  One verb that can go very wrong.  I think it might be two verbs actually, but they sound alike.

Got Scrunchy in the mail today.  Ollie swiftly knocked him off the bookshelf.  Thankfully his box is sealed or he’d get to know the Dyson a lot better than either one of us wanted.

I’ve got nothin.  Nothing that wants to jump out of my head.  Lots in there, but I can’t seem to pull anything out.  Thought constipation.  Will pears, peaches, plums or prunes help? A therapist?  A week in the Canary islands like my physiotherapist?

Max has decided he wants my attention now.  I suppose I should rush over, change his diaper and then nurse back to his 3 hour nap before we get up for the night.

Oh, what are you thinking of?
What are you thinking of?
Oh, what are you thinking of?
What are you thinking of?