"The....Horror" Volume 1

Your wife wakes you out of a deep, deep sleep at 5:15am. You've been sleeping next to your three year old daughter in the spare bedroom because she's been sick and waking up often. You got to bed around 1am and you're pretty sure when the wife walks in and tugs on your arm, this isn't gonna be good. She tells you she's been up since 2:30am with an infant that has a stuffed nose and can't put herself to sleep for any length of time.

Your wife looks the way you feel...like crap. But the little infant in her arms looks wide awake. You're screwed. These are the moments they didn't tell you about -- or if they did maybe I wasn't paying attention...

Choices? Tell your wife to suck it up and keep dealing or drag your ass out of bed and deal with it yourself. The latter idea seems like time spent in purgatory. You're sleeping off a big meal and three glasses of wine and the house is pitch black. But are you really going to ask the wife to tack another three hours onto the three that she's already spent taking care of your sick little girl? No.

So you walk your infant around for 45 minutes in the black downstairs and you feel the discs compressing in your back as the clock on the VCR moves a minute for every hundred steps taken. All you hear is your own voice gently saying, "Shhhhhhhh..." and the shuffle of your feet over the cold tiles. Finally you get her to sleep on your chest and you sit ever-so-gently in your recliner because you're terrified she'll be jostled awake. You lay back afraid to move, exhausted from trying to relax every muscle. She starts snoring and you lay there for exactly 46 minutes.

It's 7:01am, the light is creeping in from under the window treatments, and you feel like you're coming off a three-day bender as she stirs awake. The only thing you feel halfway decent about is that you were able to give your wife 90 minutes of good sleep.

You're shot...already. Physically and mentally.

The day is just about to start.