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One of my best friends is pregnant with her first baby and will deliver her little girl in about a month. Aside from the fact that she is just plain awesome, one of the reasons this particular friend is so great is because she has witnessed first-hand just how hard this parenting thing is. She has seen, ahem, how active my children are, and she is aware of just how little sleep I have gotten over the past three years. She saw me struggle through colic with my first son, and then attempt to chase a toddler while dealing with a newborn just two years later. So perhaps more than most new moms-to-be, my friend has a good idea of what she’s in for when her daughter is born.
When it comes to things like sleep deprivation, however, you really have no clue how unbelievably hard it is until you’re living it. Not sleeping for months and months is nothing short of torture. As I write this, I haven’t had more than about four or five straight hours of sleep in the nearly 10 months since my second child was born. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be “rested.” I alternate between “I’m so tired but maybe a few cups of coffee can convert me into enough of a human being to prepare breakfast for everyone,” and “I’m so exhausted that if anyone looks at me the wrong way, I’m going to become a raving lunatic.” My poor family.
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