Imagine, I’m there drinking another gallon of coffee at 6pm last night in a bid to feel and look less like a dug-up-corpse for parents evening. It had only been microwaved once so I felt like I was transported to Starbucks, Riverside MotherF*cker.
Fast forward to 10pm, I’m ready for our rock-star-bed-time and now Casey is fully unconscious. Meanwhile I’m so caffeinated I can’t feel my face and that mixed with this anxiety bastard that wont let me sleep as of late, plus the anticipation of one of my closest friends about to give birth any moment, I lay there checking my phone every 5 seconds making sure it was still working.
Obviously the second I fell asleep he woke up in a ravenous frenzy demanding alllll the ounces and by the end of the animalistic feed we were both ready for the long nap. He slept for another 6 hours which is up there in epic proportions to normal.
Only to be woken to messages of an out-of-the-blue engagement – the second of the week (feeling the love guys) and the arrival of Baby! I mean at what point could I sleep after that! ❤️💙
So its made me realise, if I wasn’t up with Casey, I’d be up for another reason and sometimes, it’s just easier to blame someone else.
In other news, while taking out the rubbish this morning, I noticed this little sock situation…
My sock voluntarily did the roll thing – Circa 1994, Year 2 – where the ‘tighter the roll, the closer to God’ or some shit. And while my love for a sock/sandal combo knows no bounds at the moment, this takes me back to when your social status was based entirely on the roll quality.
How I long to go back to a simpler time.