At eight weeks, my baby does not sleep through the night. In fact, my baby would prefer not to sleep at night at all it seems. I totally understand now how sleep deprivation can be used as a torture device. (And as for that "sleep when your baby sleeps" nonsense, it's great as long as you are able to get all your sleep in 45-minute intervals and don't have any need to eat, shower, do laundry, leave the house, or get any kind of non-baby human contact.)
Before late in my pregnancy, I could take it or leave it. I always preferred ginger ale. Now, however, I'd be happy to drink nothing but.
While I loved, loved, loved the weather in California, I've never hated Wisconsin winters. I still don't hate winter, but I'm so ready for spring this year. It all probably has to do with being extra-cooped up inside with the baby. I can't wait for the first day it's warm enough to take the baby out for a walk (note to self: buy stroller sometime before warm day arrives).
The last time I knit? A couple of hours before my water broke and we left for the hospital. Last thing I knit?
The most frustrating thing is that I considered taking the sock along to the hospital, but discarded the idea thinking that I'd be in too much pain to knit. I didn't know that I'd spend the first sixteen or so hours of my hospital stay in relatively mild labor watching repeats of college football games.
At least I finished the knitting on this stripey (and highly modified) version of Knitty's Daisy:
Now, if only I could get it washed and the zipper on it. And find the time to knit something else.