I was greeted at 430 this morning by a small voice next to my bed that complained about a binky and how it was upstairs in her big girl bed and all I could think was, "then maybe you should go BACK UPSTAIRS to your big girl bed and get it." So Chris went and got the binky and told her that if she wanted to stay downstairs she had to be quiet and sleep and she did, for all of thirty seconds, before declaring, "I hafta go potty."
After that, she came back to my side of the bed and put her sunglasses on (???) and crawled up next to me and snuggled and asked for covers and went to sleep. In the great expanse of our king-size bed where there's more than enough room for all three of us, she snuggled up as close to me as she could get without actually being on top of me.
I stared at the ceiling for a half hour, completely unable to go back to sleep now that I'd been woken to the point of conscious conversation. The baby woke up and started kicking and turning around and poking me. I had to go potty now. And then, inexplicably, my nose started bleeding. I finally snuck out of bed and discovered that the aggravating round ligament pain I was having last night hasn't gone away and I waddled to the living room to escape into the computer while the house is still quiet. Blissfully, heavenly, quiet.
Today is my birthday and I am 32-years-old. It doesn't sound like a great way to start a birthday, but for some reason I'm perfectly fine with it.