3 a.m.

My two year
old has a stuffy nose. She woke up last night at 3 a.m. and couldn’t get
back to sleep. Then she woke my five year old, who normally would grumble
a bit, then roll over and ignore the disturbance, but instead said, in
a terribly awake voice, "mama, you’re home!" Clearly not enough mama
time lately. It’s been all of three days, and rehearsals are already taking
their toll. She was ready to chat. So I ping-ponged for a bit between
them:

—WAH!
—Try some Vicks.
—Mama, I need to go potty.
—Ok, go quietly. Don’t wake
your sister,
—WAH!
—How about a diaper change?
—Mama, I need a glass of
water.

—I see a vicious cycle forming.
—WAH!
—It’s ok, sweetie.
—Mama,
the baby is awake.

—Yes, I’m aware of that.

In the end I delivered baby
to my husband — my spot in the big bed was obviously available — and
curled up with the five year old. An hour later she kicked me out. I
checked in with husband and baby, who were blissfully sprawled, so I
crawled in baby’s toddler bed and slept under her ¾-size blanket.

This
morning was bleary. It didn’t help that Mixed Blood has stopped
providing coffee because no one ever washed their cups. I swear, we’re
worse than kindergartners. Actually, we really are worse than
kindergartners; my daughter cleans more at her Montessori preschool
than I do most days.

We completed table work today, so my days at rehearsal
are going to get shorter. I did two scene rewrites late last night, and
one of them still isn’t working right. At this point I think I need to
step back and get some perspective on the whole. We’ve talked this play
into little tiny bite-size pieces, and now Risa and the actors and the
designer get to start putting it all together again. And I need to
finish my Playwrights’ Note for the program; maybe that’ll get my mind
back in the big picture. If not, one of my daughters will wake me up at
3 a.m., and I’ll lie awake and mull, and something will come to me. I
think half the play was written in 3 a.m. epiphanies. No wonder all the
characters are sleep deprived.