That's not a song title, but it damn well should be...
Who was I to think I'd have more time to blog after the arrival of Baby J? Some of my fears have been realized with the fact that she is a night owl, just as she was in the womb. Since Ray gets up at 3 a.m. for work, I can't really ask him to pull an all nighter with the baby. That, and he's lacking some of the necessary equipment required to care for Baby J at this point as well.
What this means, is that I've been watching a lot of late night television, something I haven't done since TFYO was an infant, who also liked to stay up all night and nurse for hours on end. It's been putting questions in my head.
Like, when did Conan O'Brien's hair get so big? Is he purposely brushing it higher to compliment that huge forehead?
When did Craig Ferguson become funnier than anyone else on late night TV?
And when did they start a series called "The History of Sex" on the History Channel?
Is Billy Mays really a person, or an animatronic doll?
And that guy that does the Sham-Wow commercials, why is he so damn angry?
Why would anyone need to have a Matlock marathon at 3 a.m., especially when the target demographic for the show is in bed by 8 p.m.?
And who thought an infomercial on colon cleansing was a good idea? Especially with detailed pictures?
I know it seems like these are frivolous questions, but when you've been subsisting on three hours of broken sleep per day, they take on an ominous tone. By the time Baby J settles down at 5:30 in the morning, I can't help but wonder if I have enough cleaning power in my vacuum, if my teeth are white enough, and if an onion chopper has a place in my kitchen.
But wait, there's more!
Actually, there's not. I've always just wanted to say that.