Blitzkrieg

We awoke to a funny scene in our home this morning. Our little apartment currently looks like an interesting cross between a daycare and war zone. We employed a baby-feeding tactic last night that we refer to as, "The Blitzkrieg."

We normally each take one feeding shift in the middle of the night so that each of us gets a five hour stretch of uninterrupted sleep. The sleep is nice, but the solo shift is pretty rough. So the idea of the blitz is that we both get up for every shift and get it done as quickly as possible. This way, we reason, we will have some company at three a.m., and will be able to get all of the feedings done faster. It's a logical plan, right?

Well, it worked pretty well for us last night until three. I actually don't remember very much of that shift, except that my stomach hurt. And at the time it seemed to me that the best cure would be to eat some (read: most) of our friend Vicki's pumpkin bread. Right out of the tin she brought it to us in. I know that I fed one of the babies, but I can't remember which one. Tom very graciously fed the other two.

So our apartment this morning is littered with empty bottles and dirty burp cloths. We have some cleaning to do. But instead of getting to work we spent the morning dancing around the living room with the babies to Chris Brown. And finishing off Vicki's pumpkin bread. Right out of the tin.