Many of us parents are very familiar with the stirrings of the middle of the night. I usually have to feed W around 2 or 3 a.m. and can thankfully (usually) put him right back down to get another 3 or so hours of sleep, when I can get back to sleep. If I can't, I wander the house, periodically peeking out the front windows of the house to look at what, I'm not sure. I imagine that cars whizzing by are revelers leaving last call or the beloved donut maker heading to work. My neighbors across the street have a 4 or 5 week old son and I grin to myself knowing full well what's going on over there as the lights inside their home click on and off. It's tough. Before baby, I dreamed of blue Tiffany boxes, spa weekends, and spontaneous trips to the hill country or Marfa, Texas. Now I would kill for a full nights sleep, a long shower under my new huge showerhead, or a drive to a coffeeshop where no one knows me and I don't have to change my baby soiled clothes to look presentable. Ugh.
Tonight I'm also looking for the return of a certain musician from a post-musical dinner celebration. This is about the time I start to imagine he's in a ditch somewhere.
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