Dear Sigrid

Darling daughter, sweet sweet treasure,

PLEASE start sleeping through the night. It's been at least nine months since I got seven uninterrupted hours of sleep, and holy crap, I want those seven hours. That's what you can give me for Mother's Day. Except I'd like my present early, like tonight. You'll never have to get me anything ever again, as long as you can live with the guilt of never honoring me and my sacrifice on the day which Hallmark hath set aside for such an occasion.

Because I am trained as an illustrator, here is a story illustrating my tiredness:

Last night, I was tasked* with making couscous, and I put the water in the microwave and set the timer instead of the cook time. Then I realized my mistake and turned the cooking magic on, and your Daddy started laughing at me, because it turned out that I hadn't really put the water in the microwave, and it was still sitting on the counter, and I was cooking air. And that's why Daddy and I split up.

In sum, the dents between the fat rolls on your thighs are deep enough to hold a pencil in, which means you surely have enough stores to last seven hours without a meal. And your brother slept through the night starting when he was seven weeks old. Why can't you be more like your brother?

All my love,

Mama



*People who know me will be SHOCKED to see that I am fatigued enough to use "task" as a verb.