Late Sunday morning, and all my charges are asleep.
Baby C snores in the middle of our giant bed, worn out from the rigors of teething.
Greg snores on the sofa in the living room, exhausted from revising a brief all night (and let that crazy fun Saturday night activity serve as a warning to the legions of readers considering work at a large law firm).
Kona snores on the off-limits chair, drowsy because, well, because she's a cat.
And I, bone-tired from enduring the rigors of teething with my daughter, setting up Greg with snacks and coffee, cleaning up after the cat who can only cough up hairballs on my comforter, and seven months of parenting boot camp, am WIDE awake.
Perhaps I should have resisted drinking the dregs of the coffee I brewed for Greg?
After over a year of very limited caffeine consumption, half a cup of Hills Brothers has left me wired. The energy shocks me. I realize that the fog in which I've been functioning is probably due more to caffeine withdrawal than sleep deprivation. The hit is fantastic: I feel alive! I have energy! I'm afraid I'm off the wagon for good. Now if only my hands would stop shaking, perhaps I could get something done.