For some time I haven't been able to think about anything to blog.
I chalked this up to my mundane and overly boring life and mountains and mountains of laundry.
Then, as I sat down to write a top ten of last year, inspired by another (better) blogger, I realized something:
I have a serious memory issue.
Then I realized something else.
This all started around the time a little punk was born. A little punk we call, "It". A little punk who seems to draw the entire universe around her to smother her in kisses and hold her and never let her precious tukus touch the ground.
Every morning through crusty eyes and stinky breath my son needs to be informed of each and every squawk and cry Chloe made through the night. Kembry just demands cereal.
The point is, I'm seriously sleep deprived. And apparently, this has something to do with retaining memory. Is this what that third child syndrome is all about? Perhaps parents all over the world, throughout the history of time, have failed to make any memory of their third child because they were just plum exhausted.
"What third child? I only have two children..."
"No, Ma'am, you have six."
I think three does it for me. At least until they make a powerful enough sleeping pill that will seep through my breast milk and into my infant and knock her out once and for all...or, until my husband starts to lactate. Either or. Preferably the latter. Of course, he'll have to shave all that nipple hair off. *Another shiver*.
Anyhoodle, what was I saying?