When The Slug Becomes The Hurricane

My 3 1/2-month-old Slug has become an Insomniac Slug. I didn’t even know they made that particular species but he assures me he’s highly evolved. At least that’s why he claims he no longer needs sleep. He says it’s much more fun for mollusks to wake up every one to two hours. All. Night. Long. Funny, I didn’t know they woke up much at all (hence the name “slug…”)

After life with The Hurricane, I knew I had it good when Bode was born. He has always slept a five-hour block until the last few weeks. Nothing has changed with his daytime schedule besides he’s spitting up a bit more lately but not enough for me to be alarmed. So, I’m stumped and am looking for suggestions. All I know is that I’m tired. Oh so very tired.

We’ve had some fun plans the last few days. Friday was Haddie’s big Halloween bash and that night was YMCA’s party. Saturday, we planned to spend the morning playing at a beautiful park and then hit our church’s trunk-or-treat that evening.

Friday was one of my worst all-nighters with the Insomniac Slug. So, imagine how thrilled I was when I finally dragged myself up that morning to have my normally-sensitive husband announce that our park plans had changed because he had booked a massage. For himself. And to think he’s still trying to figure out why I was P-I-S-S-Y all day long.

In other news: Haddie’s party was the social event of the season. We had tons of cute kids with darling costumes and fun games. Well, I at least thought they were fun, though oftentimes I could’ve sworn those toddlers were teens because they looked at me skeptically as if to say “You want me to do what?” Foreshadowing, my friends.

And yes, Bode does have orange and blue hair. If you can’t find a helmet that fits, use spray paint (isn’t that what the good book says?) I figure his subsequent therapy will rival the cost I spend on the psych ward in order to get three consecutive hours of sleep.

And then there’s The Hurricane. Not only have I taught her to cheer “Like, GO TEAM,” but she has also mastered the accompanying head bob. I’m afraid I have created a monster. Or worse: a cheerleader.

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