I had a terrible dream, and woke up to a baked potato.
Yeah, that's kind of what I thought, too. "Why is there a baked potato in my bed?"
Turns out that it was Claire, with a 103 fever, all hot and dry and snuggly in the bed next to me. My poor little lamb.
So, since I wasn't planning on going back to sleep any time soon, I got up with her. She's sleeping in the swing, now, thanks to a stiff dose of Tylenol, and I'm catching up on my blogs. It's kind of peaceful and nice. BJ's alarm just went off.
Maybe the answer to "me time" as a Mom lies somewhere between 5 and 7 am.
Or maybe I'm just delirious from sleep deprivation!
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