My babies and husband are sleeping now and I’m snuggled up under three blankets as I write. The house is heated, but its forecasted to be brutally cold tonight.

With my husband’s help, I finally folded and put away the pile of clean laundry that had been plaguing our bedroom floor. But I just remembered that the toddler-barf-covered rug and clothes from this evening are still wet in the washer and I’ll need to drag myself out of this cozy cocoon to move that to the dryer so it doesn’t get mildewy.

I’m considering waking my husband up to ask him to do it because I’m at the level of tired where I hear my older daughter’s voice crying for me in my head even though she is soundly asleep.

Oh wait it’s not in my head. Brb.

She was saying “mama” weakly because she has a fever now. I woke my husband up to go sleep by her. I don’t want her to be alone, but I need to sleep near the new baby who will inevitably wake up soon to nurse.

I feel so helpless when my babies are sick. Kissing her feverish forehead gives me an indescribably deep sinking dread. I want to make her feel better, but there’s nothing I can do but love and pray and struggle internally with my beliefs about prayer and its power or lack thereof.

I went to put the laundry in the dryer.

Maybe I’ll dream-feed the baby now.

They’re all asleep again, so I should try to sleep too.

Sleep when the baby’s sleeping lol

Goodnight.