I am still sick. Wren is still sick. Calder is still three going on impossible. Last night ended up with Wren waking up every two hours at which point I resigned myself to just sleeping upright with her attached to my boobs and snoozing. This was a great plan until Calder also woke up. Which woke Wren back up, regardless of her proximity to boobage. Calder was being difficult and wouldn't settle himself without his own snuggles so first we all tried cuddling in his bed. Except, since her brother was up, Wren was ready to party. After about three minutes of that even Calder was all, "I fink this is not a great idea actually" and we relocated back to the couch.
Eventually both kids ended up falling asleep and I was able to nap somewhat from 4 to 7 whereupon I foisted the baby onto Bruce and got one real hour of sleep in my own dear bed. I could have tried to put them back in their own beds much sooner but that would probably have woken everyone up again and Chief had taken over my bed spot, pillow and all, anyways.
This kind of nocturnal nonsense has led to me spending my days shuffling through work and home life, a barely coherent shell of my former self, saying things like "Never, ever vomit on a police officer's daughter" at fancy work lunches. I have forgotten/broken pieces of my pump at least three times in the last two weeks which resulted in me having an extremely painful, if well endowed, few days at work. I could go on and on about my dumbassery but pretty much nothing I could do or say would illustrate the depths to which my mind has fallen better than this conversation I recently had with Bruce:
Bruce: Do you want me to get (Babysitter) to come over on Tuesday so we can go out?
Bruce: Or she could just come over and keep the kids busy in the basement which we have a nice dinner up here.
Me: Huh? For what, why do we need a babysitter on Tuesday?
Bruce: For your birthday.