I know that I'll eventually stop feeling so completely pooped, or that I'll become immune to tiredness, or something. Right?
Every time Samson finishes eating and is either peacefully asleep or laying there, quietly attempting to focus on the stuffed zebra hovering above his noggin, I find myself thinking, "Quick! You've got about 90 minutes to do something! Nap! Blog! Run an errand! Laundry! Shower! Blarrrrgh!" That "blarrrrgh" bit was my head exploding from the pressure.
It's been a little bit more intense the past couple of days due to the Sickness that's been making it's rounds through my family. Max is finishing up his bout, and mine started on Thanksgiving. It's not real bad at all, but it is difficult to keep the snot from dripping on the baby's head while he nurses. Yes, I know, ew. Deal with it.
All that being said, I am 50 jillion times more in love with Samson than I was the last time I posted, and I'm starting to figure out that it's totally exponential, and that there is no limit. I'm pretty damn sure that there's never been a baby this cute before.