wanted: cat naps.

Morning, chickens!

And top o’ the morning to you! Happy St. Patrick’s Day from the Second City!

While there were no crazy parties to be had this year (although sleep deprivation feels a lot like a hangover), we still ate approximately 100 slices of Irish soda bread, enjoyed some corned beef and cabbage, and even partook in a couple of Jameson cocktails.

I actually tried to do a shot of the aforementioned liquor, but apparently, I’ve forgotten the technique, and somehow ended up with more Jameson on my face than in my mouth.

It’s a learning process, chickadees.

Aside from celebrating Theo’s Irish heritage (you guys, my baby is HALF Irish, and only one quarter Italian…it’s a crazy world we live in), JW and I have been learning how to live life on very limited sleep.

This generally means that the following things have been happening in our condo in the middle of the night: singing James Taylor to T in a desperate attempt to get him to sleep (and looking up the lyrics to songs I’ve known the words to since I was born, because I’m so tired), assuring JW that the baby is in his co-sleeper at least once a night when he startles awake and asks “Where is the baby?!”, waking up and ambling into the living room to make sure JW hasn’t fallen asleep in some dangerous position with Theo on him (he never has), and my favorite, which I share because I subscribe to the axiom that laughter is the best medicine: two nights ago, sometime around 3am, I heard JW talking softly to Theo in a soothing voice, and listened harder so I could hear what he was saying. Which turned out to be “Theo, you’re being an asshole, go to sleep” over and over again.

At first I was horrified, but you guys, it’s pretty hysterical, and luckily T doesn’t seem to know that his dad’s throwing expletives at him.

And plus, the statement was not untrue. We’re trying to teach an honesty-is-the-best-policy over here. I’m just trying to be real.

Right?

Right.

Luckily, all things considered, he’s so cute we forgive him his sleep depriving ways (although I note, no one disturbs him when he’s snoozing).

photo (4)

Enjoy this one, chickens, and have a Shamrock shake (and eight hours of sleep) on my behalf!

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Filed under Chicago, Near Disaster, Reflections

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