Let it be stated for the record that I would be one of the first to be thinned from the herd.

One thing about having your children born so far apart is that you pretty much have totally forgotten what it’s like to take care of an infant. 

This is a good thing and a bad thing.

Oh, there might be times leading up to the birth where your mind sort of has a flash of memory of walking around feeling like a participant on Celebrity Rehab,  but due to the biological imperative that man procreate, the memory is brief and somewhat hallucinatory.  Then you think to yourself, oh, it will be better this time.

Hardee. Har. Har. 

I will be thirty-nine next month, and I looked at my husband and claimed that we (meaning, of course, I) were too old for this kind of stuff.  In my twenties, I could easily operate on four or so hours of sleep.   But now my ancient carcass needs more than that.  I also have another child who needs annoying things like lunch for school and clean clothes, which makes for even less rest.  I don’t know how people who have multiple kids under five do it.  My hat is off to them, although I’m sure they’d rather me give them a pillow.

What doesn’t make it any easier is that all of my favorite shows are currently in new seasons, so there are days when I have to wrestle with watching the new episode of Lost or a half hour of sleep.  Thank the gods for DVR, that’s all I have to say.

Now if you’ll excusce me, I’m going to stop writing and take a damn nap.