Warning: the following post contains multiple references to breasts, breast milk and breast feeding. If this is too weird for you, don't read it.

12:30 a.m.: feed baby.

1 a.m.: put baby sleeping baby back to bed. Crawl into bed beside husband, who is snoring. Feel quite surprised when he rolls over, looks straight into your eyes and says: "Seriously, all secrets aside, I think we've got enough people--that is, the people in the pink trousers--to really kick some ass." (Mommy is not making this up). Ask husband what the heck he is talking about. Husband responds in a very huffy tone: "Nothing," and rolls over. Mommy realizes that husband has been completely asleep for this conversation.

1:30 a.m.: feed baby

2:15 a.m.: attempt to feed baby again. Realize that baby doesn't really want to eat; she's just wide awake and wants to be held. Consider asking husband to wake up and hold baby for awhile. Remember husband's utter lack of coherence earlier and ponder difficulty of waking him up, making him understand what is going on, and then getting any sleep. Decide it's not worth it.

2:30 to 4:30 a.m.: hold happy, wide-eyed baby and finish reading The Eyre Affair.

4:30 a.m.: nurse baby to sleep and crawl into bed again.

6:30 a.m.: feed baby.

8 a.m.: Feed baby, who immediately falls into a deep sleep. Lie in bed and listen to sounds of toddler and husband eating breakfast in the kitchen. Decide to get up, not because tiredness has abated, but because stomach is demanding food. Discover that breasts have swollen to gargantuan size. The milk is in.

9 a.m.: Pull out pre-pregnancy clothes. *Rejoice* to see that by some miracle, mommy can zip one pair of pre-pregnancy jeans. *Despair* to discover that shirts, which fit fine before pregnancy, have undergone a transformation to something resembling Britney Spears' wardrobe: too tight in the chest and two inches too short in the belly.

9:30 a.m.: End up putting on husband's old Mozilla Firefox T-shirt. Tight T-shirt + geeky logo = happy husband.

10:15 a.m.: feed baby

11:30 a.m.: feed baby. Leave for baby's doctor's appointment. On the way, realize that in sleep-addled state, mommy has somehow missed the turnoff to the doctor's office. Find a new way to get there.

12 p.m.: Arrive at medical plaza. Get off elevator on wrong floor. Wander halls for awhile before realizing that office is on third floor, not second.

12:05 p.m.: Get a stack of forms to fill out from receptionist. Sit in waiting room and begin filling them out.

12:07 p.m.: Baby begins crying. Manage to drape a blanket over shoulders, nurse baby, and then finish filling out forms with one hand, without flashing anyone in the waiting room. Mommy feels as though she deserves a standing ovation, or at least mild applause, for accomplishing this feat.

12:40 p.m.: Get called for 12:20 appointment. Sit in exam room until nurse comes in and weighs baby. Baby weighs 8 pounds already, just three ounces shy of birth weight. "Good job," nurse says, eyeing mommy's enormous chest. Mommy feels glad that all that feeding is accomplishing something besides making her crazy and tired.

1 p.m.: Doctor examines baby and tells mommy everything looks great. Mommy nurses baby one more time before leaving. Baby spits up on mommy. As she stands up, mommy catches a glimpse of self in the mirror and realizes that spit-up has left a wet spot on miraculous pre-pregnancy jeans, inconveniently close to crotch. Also, because mommy forgot to put nursing pads in bra before leaving home, milk has leaked through bra and shirt, making a large wet spot on Firefox logo. Mommy ponders whether she still wants to go run errands with said spots on clothing. Decides she just doesn't care.

1:30 p.m.: Arrive at Costco. Realize happily that hot weather has dried up spots on shirt and pants.

2:15 p.m.: Get home. Toddler and baby are still sleeping and husband is playing on computer. Mommy lies on couch and attempts to sleep.

2:30 p.m.: Toddler wakes up, sees mommy, and wants to read a book.

3:30 p.m.: Feed baby.

4 p.m.: Lie on couch and doze while husband listens to "Marketplace" on the radio.

4:30 p.m.: Clean up the big mess mommy made this morning while trying on and then pulling off all the shirts that do not fit.

5 p.m.: Tell husband, "Let's start making dinner." Husband says, "Let's play Yahtzee on the computer." Mommy breaks down into tears when for some reason her fuddled brain cannot comprehend how to make Yahtzee on the computer work.

5:30 p.m.: Apologize for break down. Help husband make tacos. Laugh when he spills salt all over the floor. Eat tacos.

6 p.m.: feed baby.

7 p.m.: watch Jeopardy.

7:40 p.m.: put toddler to bed.

8 p.m.: feed baby, who is wide-eyed and alert again now that it's night time.

8:15 p.m.: pay bills that have been piling up during end-of-pregnancy lethargy and hospital stay.

8:45 p.m.: feed baby. Hand her to husband and try to go to sleep.

9:30 p.m.: baby cries. Feed baby. Finish watching "Last Comic Standing" with husband.

10 p.m.: attempt to go to bed.

10:30 p.m.: feed baby. Attempt to go to bed.

11 p.m.: Feed baby. Put her to bed, and by the grace of God baby does not immediately wake and start fussing.

11:02 p.m.: Sleep.