Presumably with the purpose of keeping us from getting too comfortable, Miles balanced Tuesday night’s sleep-fest with a hellish night last night. It wasn’t his worst—he didn’t scream a whole lot—but I was up from 3:40 to 6 a.m. walking, bouncing, feeding, patting, and sshhh-ing him (but not singing to him. The books say not to make night time a fun time, so there will be no renditions of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” after midnight. Truthfully this is due more to being so exhausted I can’t remember the lyrics than to any attempt at structure or discipline, which is surely futile with a kid this young).

The only thing that kept me borderline sane (though Denny may disagree with my self-assessment) was the prospect of coffee in the morning. I gave up caffeine when I was trying to get pregnant, and I haven’t had much since. However, my dad left some nice coffee grounds in my cupboard when he was here last weekend, and I’ve brewed up a couple of pots since then.

It seriously works.

It makes me wonder if this is how addicts in the early stages of their habits think. “If I can just get through the day at work, when I get home I can do a line of coke and everything will be okay.”  Should I be relying on a drug just to exist with some semblance of normalcy?  Is this unhealthy?

Do I give a crap?