Mourning my Morning

Here’s a summary of my night/morning:

11:00 PM—I stop writing and go to bed.

12-12:30 AM—I fall asleep.

4:07 AM—Violet awakens, and proceeds to have deep discussion with her stuffed animals.

4:34 AM—I give up to go change Violet’s diaper, and encourage her to go back to sleep. Upon my return to the bedroom, I turn the baby monitor off.

5:02 AM—Violet finally stops talking. I could still hear her sans the monitor because our walls are so delightfully thin.

5:22 AM—I am awakened from dozing by a plane engine.

5:45 AM—I hear buzzing that sounds like my cell phone, and seems to be coming from upstairs. I run upstairs, thinking there is some kind of family emergency going on. It wasn’t my cell phone, and I wasn’t hallucinating, because my husband also heard it and got up to check the location of his own phone. It must have been emanating from the neighbor’s house, courtesy of the thin walls on the other side of our bedroom.

6:14 AM—My husband gets a call from his boss, regarding a fax. An exhausted husband kindly re-sets the alarm, which was due to go off at 6:30.

7:00 AM—The alarm goes off, and the hubby gets up to take a shower.

7:22 AM—The baby wakes up.

I looked in the mirror a few minutes ago. The bags under my eyes resemble the tops of those old-fashioned theatre curtains. I need to go hop in the shower so I am not greasy when we leave for story-time at the library. I’d much rather jump back into the loving arms of my bed and revert to a comatose state. Blah.