I nursed Emry at 3 a.m., 4:30 a.m., and 6 a.m. By 6:20 a.m., his cheeks were the size of small cantaloupes.

Also at 6:20, Emry started working on perfecting his teradacytle shriek. The happy kind.

I waited for my mom to wake up so that I could hand off the adorable, shrieking-with-delight baby to her and go back to sleep.

I cursed the light streaming into the bedroom, cueing the baby’s brain that he should start waking up at 6:00. What happened to 7 a.m., my dear babykins? On that note, what happened to sleeping in more than 1.25 hour stretches?

I waited for Elan, who was sleeping in my mom’s room on a mattress on the floor, to wake up, so that he would wake up my mom and I could pass off the adorable baby and go back to sleep.

Elan woke up. My mom woke up.

Elan went into my room and pulled a blanket over the baby’s face. I saw his guilty look and immediately went in, pulled the blanket back, smiled at the adorable baby (who was not at all fazed by having had the blanket over his face for 20 seconds) and tried to rein in the immediate fury I felt. Elan loves to push my “fury” button, so it’s kind of like giving him a big fat chocolate sundae with a cherry on top if I get really angry. Except it also kind of scares him, so it works a little in that way. I’m trying to reserve fury for only a few very select moments. I decided this wasn’t one of those moments. And Elan doesn’t like cherries. I probably couldn’t even get him to try a marashino.

I sang the “Uh-oh” song (more on that another time) and put Elan in his room for some “private time.”

I vented to my mom. This is what happens when I don’t show fury to Elan. I have to show it to someone else. Not the best side effect.

I played with the adorable baby. Still not traumatized. I’m starting to see how different life is for first versus second kids.

I went back to sleep.

With eye shades on.

And ear plugs in.

Ah, blessed eye shades. Ah, blessed ear plugs. Ah, blessed unconsciousness, when you’re not on duty… finally.

I woke up. What was that – 20 minutes? 2 hours? Wow. I could sleep all day, for several days in a row. Fantasizing about sleep is new mom porn.

I put the baby down for his nap.

I dealt with Elan spilling my full water bottle on the carpet.

My mom left for her haircut.

I fixed the broken sippy cup.

I made pancakes with the batter my mom left. I poured coffee.

I went sprinting upstairs at the sound of Elan crying, before he could wake the baby, after having bumped his head.

I comforted Elan. I helped him find what he was looking for. I moved the hide-a-bed frame he pumped his head on.

I told Elan: If Mama doesn’t eat very soon, she is going to get very cranky.

I went back downstairs, trailing Elan in his new dinosaur pjs. (“There’s dinosaurs even on the pants!”)

I reheated my coffee. Note to self: Just use the travel mug. Even when you think you’re about to sit down. You’re most likely not.

I poured the syrup and ignored my dinosaur-pj-clad son for a full five minutes.

Open mouth, insert bite.

Uh, huh. That’s what I’m talking about.