Tired. Crappy.

If you have a baby, do you ever find yourself slipping the words "why won't you ever let me sleep?" sweetly into the silly and otherwise nonsensical songs you make up during endless sessions of bouncing and rocking your kid to (if you are very lucky) sleep? I do. I just really, really want to get more than three hours of sleep in a row. I want it bad.

Thankfully Bee brings tremendous, indescribable joy to our lives, which compensates for the serious and debilitating sleep deprivation and inability to care for ourselves (I just want 3 minutes to put on some lotion and clean my ears!). Outside of the happiness she brings, though, this winter has been fairly disagreeable. I've had one infection after another, along with inexplicable stomach pain, since the day Bee was born. I can't eat wheat without feeling like I just took a cannonball to the tummy. I never leave the house. And speaking of the house, ours is a complete mess, because when I get 45 seconds of hands-free time, I usually use it to brush my teeth, not clean the kitchen counters.*

And, oh yeah, our dog died. It happened so fast, with Ben driving the poor creature to the emergency vet 45 minutes away in the middle of the night yesterday. I wish we'd had a chance to buy her a couple of pork chops and reminisce first, or at least give her a few days of not letting the screen door hit her on the ass every time we let her outside. That dog and I loved antagonizing each other every day, and I'm sad that she's gone. Ben, of course, is more than a bit heartbroken about having to put the dog to sleep; he was the dog's especial favorite, her rock in the stormy sea after agreeing to "watch" her for two homeless kids until they could come back for her (that was twelve years ago). Bella was rightly devoted to Ben, and he, being a gentle man with a gift for caring for creatures great and small, took exemplary care of her. Despite my near-constant bellyaching about the dog's habits and smelliness, she was a good dog.

We are really looking forward to spring.

Left: Pup.
Goodbye, friend.

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* It is no better, and probably slightly worse, for Ben, who also takes care of Bee and gets almost no sleep (sometimes even less than I get), plus has to drive nearly an hour to work and back each day, where he is expected to function like a productive member of society. He does get to drink hot coffee each morning and converse with grownups each day, but those are minor points. I prize my 20-second commute in flannel pajamas at least as much as the talking-to-other-grownups thing.