The insomniac texts, 1st entry

Sept 5th, 3:27 am.

I am currently on my 43rd hour of not sleeping since bringing our newborn children home from the hospital. Tired...so tired. The sounds of my children squeaking and squawking fill the air; they are incessant. Helpless though they may be, their whimpering has kept me awake for longer than my mind can bare. Unsure of what is reality and what is merely a sleep deprived hallucination, I drift to the kitchen stopping only to say hello to the leprechaun burying his treasures beneath the tile in our hallway. As I open the refrigerator, a light bulb goes off in my head. I make a note so I won't forget my brilliant idea later, "solar powered cow" I scribble on the notepad magnetically clinging to our fridge. Upon further review, I'm unsure what this means, but assume I will figure it out tomorrow.

Right now I need something...but what? Fruit Loops! Toucan Sam stares at me from the back of the cereal box, "Do this cross word puzzle" he beckons me. I stare at his first clue, "A _____ a day keeps the Dr. away" 5 letters. I should know this. It's there on the outer rim of my consciousness... but I cannot recall it from the nether regions of my memory.

Tired...so tired.

The cereal loving cartoon Bird is smiling, his multi-colored beak is mocking me. His lifeless eyes seem to speak to me saying, "Bawk! I can sleep whenever I want to, stupid human. Bawk!".

"You will pay for this Toucan! I will empty this box in a days time!" I exclaim aloud. Too loud. The children stir in their sleep, I fear I may have awoken them and further delayed my chances of ever falling asleep.

I hold my breath and dare not move for fear of making a sound and waking the children fully. "Lub dub, lub dub", I can hear my heart pounding in my head. Can the children hear it as well? Every sound in the house is amplified. Please God don't let them wake up yet, I need to sleep, I will do anything, please!

Tired...so tired.

The children begin to stir. "Blast!" I shout under my breath. I run to their bed side, and begin to sing Brahms lullaby to them. Unsure of the actual words, I make them up as I go. "Go to sleep, Go to sleep, Go to sleep little babies. You are sleepy, freaking sleepy, Toucan Sam is a jerk." Slowly the children's breathing settles, they shift ever so slightly and fall back asleep. Exhaling stealthily, I lay my head on the floor and sing Brahms lullaby to myself.

Tired...so tired. Drowsily the room around me begins to fade. Miraculously, I slip away into REM sleep. I dream of hunting the Toucan with my new found friend the leprechaun. I am awoken a mere three and a half minutes later to the piercing shrieks of my kids crying for food. Noooooooooo!!!

Tired...so tired.

My Wife the Cyborg

First off for those of you who haven't been to Comic Con, don't generally recognize Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy as the greatest cinematic achievement of all time, or have no idea what a Graphic Novel is; I should probably explain what a Cyborg is because you clearly don't speak Geek.

Cy-borg (sigh-bore-g) noun: Cybernetic Organism, a person whose physiological functioning is aided by or dependent upon a mechanical or electronic device, i.e half-man/ half-machine. As made popular by Arnold Schwarzenegger's portrayal of the Terminator in James Cameron's Film of the same name.

I don't know how my wife does it. "It" meaning, finding the energy to selflessly take care of the kids, a home, and a husband, all the while staying beautiful, energetic, and fun. I'm amazed, and frankly a little suspicious.

During our postpartum stay in the hospital, I slept in our little room on a fold out chair. The chair provided very little in the way of comfort, or a solid night's rest. At best I was drifting in and out of sleepy town. Due to the lack of sleep and it's effects on my cognitive state, I can neither confirm nor deny the possibility that my wife was either: A. replaced by a Cyborg replica; or B. possibly outfitted with complex cybernetic technologies.

Before you jump to any conclusions about my sanity, and start saying things like; "that's a little far fetched Josh " or "sounds like science fiction to me Josh" or "You've read to many comic books because you have no life or friends and you spend too many weekends at home like a loser playing role-playing games like Settlers of Cattan with the few geeky friends you do have Josh, and it has clearly gone to your head and now you are creating some weird fantasy movie for you to play out." Allow me to make my case.

My reasons for questioning Jami's possible Cybernetic persona are three fold:

1. Jami has managed to consistently and routinely feed the twins almost every 2 hours since we got home from the hospital. When She isn't feeding she methodically works her way through a series of routines that include, pumping, doing laundry, vacuuming, and wiping things down in our house in an effort to keep our home clean and tidy. She does all of this without complaint, and still contends that she loves me; even though I'm incapable of noticing when the laundry could be washed, when the vacuum could be run, when the bathroom mirror could use a little Windex love, or when I complain about getting up at 3am to feed our helpless children who are a gift from God.

2. Jami has gotten exactly 34 minutes of sleep in the 3 weeks we've been home from the hospital, yet she is still stunningly beautiful and has tons of energy.

3. In the middle of the night I stumble groggily out of bed to the whimpering sounds of our children slowly waking from their restful sleep, to find that Jami has already stepped up and started feeding them, while simultaneously reading them a story and baking cookies. Her hair is in pristine condition her clothes are immaculate and she has a smile on from ear to ear.

This is not normal. At least it's not normal for humans, however this seems like quite the typical behavior for cyborgs. When you've eliminated all other possible alternatives, whatever is left no matter how illogical, must be true. My wife is obviously a cyborg. I am left with no other option but to covertly stockpile weapons and establish an evacuation plan for me and the children, in the event that, God forbid, my beautiful cyborg goes haywire. A rogue cyborg is not to trifled with, if you don't believe me watch the Terminator I & II.