Pequita was up with me until 11 I think due to her new phase. Or she is sick, or just jazzed up at being in Canada. Monito keeps waking up and staggering across the room in which we're bunked on the floor to press his dream-stated little body against the closed French doors and reprise Dustin Hoffman's church scene in The Graduate, except crying out his sister's name instead of "Elaine".
I'm fumbling through all this with numb fingers because contorting to keep my son on the boob while sleeping on a mattress on the floor while clutching my Blackberry and typing is, somehow, cutting off the blood supply to my hands.
Whoever said that we mothers can't have / do it all?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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