I am tired. So tired. Baby has a sinus infection and started antibiotics yesterday, but last night was killer. It was like having a newborn again...her waking up crying every hour. Even my two cups of very strong coffee couldn't get me around this morning. I had plans. Really fun plans for Saint Patrick's day with the kids. And I can't open my eyes. Every little thing they do pushes my buttons and I feel my snappy, rotten attitude creeping up on me. Flylady would be so disappointed to see our great little routine going kaput this morning. I start to pray, because I don't know what else to do. I just need help to get through this day with everyone in one piece.
Hubby calls and asks if I had a rough night. "Yes," I say. I was really hoping for something like this from him, "Ooooohhhh, you poor baby! I am so sorry you didn't sleep well. As soon as I get home I'll take the kids and let you rest. Don't worry about that laundry, either. I'll get to that right after your foot massage. And what about a movie? Can I stop and get you one? What can I do for you? How can I help, Sweet Light of my Life, Most Exalted Among Women, Angel of Mine?" Instead he asks about Baby. "So, she's exhausted, huh?" "Uh, yeah," I say, not even trying to hide the irritation in my voice. "What about you?" he finally asks. "Me? Oh, I'm great. I slept right through it!" Yes, it was a big helping of sarcasm, served alongside a dollap of hurt, with a big, steaming side of anger. Well, I don't know why, but instead of rushing home to ravish me with kisses and tell me how great I am, he chose to end the call. And then called later to say he would probably stay and work tonight, too. Hmmmm. What's his problem?

Perhaps I should go to bed early tonight.