I can SO identify with this...

I just read this from BabyCenter. Anyway, I thought I'd post it here...

Bringing home baby number two can be an earth-shaking adjustment — and second-time mom Evonne Lack is hoping she's up for the challenge. Join her each week as she chronicles her adventures with her husband, Dan, and their daughters, Anna, 23 months, and Clara, 3 weeks old. (Editor's note: Evonne began her journal in July 2006.)

Week 4: You're feeling sleepy ...

Sleep deprivation is like childbirth — the instant it's over, amnesia arrives in a flurry of goodwill and settles in to stay. Sure, I can say, "Wow, labor sucked," or "Ten months of not sleeping enough sucked even more," but I can't feel the sensations in any kind of real way. If someone commanded me to feel sleep deprived when I wasn't, I couldn't do it.

This is why, when I was pregnant, I forgot to get anxious about the exhaustion that newborns bring. In fact, in a completely misguided way, I was looking forward to the nights of nursing.

I pictured myself nursing the baby at 1 a.m. in our quiet bedroom, which would be suffused with soft moonlight. Outside, stars would twinkle benevolently and tree branches would sway. Together Clara and I would experience the comfortable aloneness that you feel when you're awake in a sleeping house. Then I'd put her in the co-sleeper that adjoins our bed and crawl into bed myself. Oh, and our bed, by the way, would feature clean, non-milk-soaked, non-night-sweat-coated sheets. I'd quickly float into a calming dreamland, from which I would awaken completely refreshed.

This fantasy hasn't exactly panned out. My night world is, in fact, crowded and intensely wacky. Want to know the most bizarre thing about it? I hear the songs to the Sesame Street Sing-a-long video all night long. Every night. The muppets permeate my dreams, singing gleefully with their wide mouths and high nasal voices. And when I reluctantly jolt into a semi-awake state to nurse Clara, they step it up a bit.

There's Ernie, singing about his rubber ducky. There's Burt, crooning about pigeons. There's Big Bird, chirping "Cheer Up." There's Grover, belting out "The Echo Song." There's Oscar, clanging his trash-can lid. It's hellish.

And it's sad, because during the daytime, I actually like the Sesame Street video. This week Anna and I have watched it every day. I've gotten attached to it. Sometimes Anna wanders out of the room, but I stay behind with the sleeping Clara, my eyes glued to the set, singing along with my Sesame Street friends. When Anna wanders back in, I pretend I'm singing for her, but we all know the truth.

Time for another?

The second-most bizarre thing happening at night is that I find myself thinking about having a third child.

This is insane. First of all, I'm old. Second, I hate being pregnant. Hate it. And third, I'm barely keeping my head above water with just two kids.

"It's not me," I told Dan. "I don't want to get pregnant. It's these stupid postpartum hormones. They keep bugging me."

The hormones have taken on Sesame Street personalities. I imagine them as miniature Oscar the Grouches, but deep pink and not grouchy. They pop out of their cheerful trash cans and sing in soprano voices about getting pregnant. The tune is that Sesame Street classic, "Sing a Song."

Conceive! Conceive again.
Conceive right now. Do not abstain!
Pregnancy's a good thing, not bad
Have another baby, be glad.

Don't worry about the throwing up
Heartburn and becoming a witch.
Conceive! Conceive again!

Ha HA ha ha ha ha, ha HA ha ha ha ha, ha HA ha ha ha HA....

So those are my nights.

Just a little grouchy

My days aren't much better. When you're sleep deprived, every single thing becomes an exaggerated version of itself. A car horn goes off, and it's not a single short bleat, but a sharp, piercing, horrendously loud blare that goes on and on and on and on.

Or someone snaps on the overhead light, and it becomes an experiment in high wattage, somehow adding 8 pounds to each of your eyeballs.

Or, and I'm just pulling this hypothetical example out of my hat, your toddler asks for a balloon in the grocery store, and you explain that they don't give out balloons at this grocery store, the balloons are at a different grocery store, and she moans, "Balloon, balloon," as if she's in labor and "balloon" is the word for "epidural," and her voice suddenly sounds like 50 ambulance drivers having a siren competition.

What with the nightly cabaret, the yapping postpartum hormones, and the exaggerated universe, well, it follows that I'd be a little irritable, don't you think? And I'm using the word "little" in a very fluid sense.

I mean, isn't it logical that when Dan doesn't hear what I say and I have to actually repeat a sentence, or when he says he's tired, or when he yawns, I want to bite someone's hand off? Not his, of course. But someone's. I mean, that makes sense to me.

Reader beware

This irritability makes for easy frustration. A cup won't fit in the dishwasher, for example, and I just want to throw it across the room. Hmmm, sound familiar? A toddler moment, perhaps?

Well, yes. In that sense, I've gained a new appreciation for how Anna must feel when she's tired and throws her shoe across the room.

Same goes for Clara. When she's exhausted from all that growing and consequently cries so hard that she snorts, I can relate.

It's just sleep deprivation, I tell myself as I ferry my girls to dreamland. Try not to take it personally.

So there's that silver lining. But otherwise, this lack-of-sleep thing isn't doing much for me.

That said, you might want to slowly back away from your computer. And whatever you do, don't touch the screen! I just might reach through it and bite your hand off.

But try not to take it personally.

Next week: Anna's world is rocked by her new baby sister, and Evonne feels like 95 percent of her life as a parent is spent making mistakes.

Actually it's an exaggeration of what I'm going through, but it doesn't mean it's an easy ride. Some days are good, but some days are...? Some differences: I like being pregnant, I like breastfeeding, Abby is usually rather negotiable. Some similarities: SLEEP DEPRIVIATION (I usually end up co-sleeping with Shalom and Abigail - but because of the fragility of the situation, I sleep lightly, which is hardly any sleep at all. Also, the family's been taking turns falling ill. After my surgery, I've been having bouts of chills, and Shalom's running a fever. But when he cries, usually I have to get up and carry him over to our bed to 'commence' the co-sleeping. Abby sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night for various reasons - to drink water, to pass water, but mostly to join us in bed. And I have to get the daddy up to be my extended hand to help her. Otherwise his snooze button is perpetually switched on.), having to repeat myself to Ben (I can't speak well and he can't hear well. What an excellent combination. And I HATE to nag.), appreciating my toddler's emotions in terms of the low levels of self-control involved, the overall sense of being overwhelmed, the consideration of the third child (Aha! It's the hormones...), and all the other nitty-gritty stuff.

Wow. I'm not in this alone. Although I really feel that way.