The babies have colds. Again. Just when I thought they were getting better, they got worse instead.

Ben has had a cough for nearly a month now, and Luke is a little mucus factory with snot slugs trailing from his nose into his mouth. I can’t wipe it away fast enough. At least it’s not green.

But the snot isn’t the worst part. I change a dozen diapers a day, half of them filled with poo, so bodily excretions just don’t faze me the way they used to.

No, the worst part is the sleep, or rather, the lack of sleep. They are up and up and up at night, poor things, coughing and crying, and Doug and I are wearing out. We thought we were nearing the point when we would be able to sleep seven or even (oh bliss) eight hours on a consistent basis. And then, this, their worst colds yet, and we’re back to sleeping in snatches.

Even though I’m exhausted, I am also grateful because I am only exhausted. Always in the past, lack of sleep equaled anxiety. But thanks to my happy pills, the sleep-debt isn’t causing my anxiety to resurface. I’m dragging and a bit spacey, but I’m not a huddled mass of weepy mama jelly in the middle of the floor.

That is cause for great rejoicing.

Still, I’d like to get some sleep.