Last night the baby couldn't sleep. Anyone who has kids knows that means mommy couldn't sleep, either. Estie's three months old and has been sleeping through the night like a champ for several weeks now (she's a prodigy, clearly). So my brain really isn't used to functioning in that special half-on, half-off, new-parent mode anymore. I was kind of a zombie. I wound up putting her in the bed between the hubs and myself, just for accessibility's sake. For most of the night I was annoyingly awake while she grunted and squirmed beside me, burrowing her face into my armpit and kicking me in the boobs. I think she had gas. Anyway, as I laid there growing more and more sleep-deprived, my mind started to wander. Weird things always pop into my head when I can't sleep. What would I wear tomorrow if I knew I was going to die and my spirit would roam the earth in the same outfit for eternity, like Patrick Swayze in Ghost? What was up with those big roaches in that Jamiroquai video in 1996? Why'd they stop making tan M&M's? Random, pointless thoughts are my sheep to count. Last night, my proverbial lamb was a poem I'd written for an assignment in high school - something about the moon. I couldn't stop thinking about this stupid poem. I remembered some of the pieces but couldn't recall how they went together. I laid there in the dark for the longest time with the words tumbling around in my head like rocks in a washing machine, until I finally felt like I had them in the right order. I still couldn't sleep (dumb baby) but at least I got some peace of mind. Plus, now I can share this modern masterpiece with the public - what a loss the art world almost suffered!
the silver moon shines
slivers and shreds
so many silver threads
across my floor
Slightly less deserving of insomnia than Patrick Swayze, but more than a boring old sheep.
And tonight, I'm slipping Estie an ambien.