I don’t get much sleep these days. I have a four-month old, and she wakes up at least twice in the night to be fed. I feel strung out, but happy.
Last night I decided to hit the sack around 8. It’s more than a feeble attempt to wake up before I have just enough time to race around the house hunting for my shoes, keys and breast pump pieces, just so I can sprint out the door to barely make my bus to work.
Despite being sleep-deprived, I feel a resurgent need to devote some time to myself. I want to write again, get a little exercise and maybe learn those yoga poses that promise to make me feel less creaky.
The gears have been oiled, but they are cold.