Will I Survive Having TWO Children?

I am currently well on my way to bringing a second child into my family, and I’m just wondering, will I survive having two children?

I know, I know. My mom did it, your mom did it, your sister did it, your neighbor did it, that crazy lady at your mom’s group did it, and you’ve probably already done it. Not to mention you people who have loads more children than just two. But I’m still growing number two in my belly, and there are days when my number one literally just leaves nothing left.

If I manage to avoid stepping on every dump truck ever made on my way to my bedroom at the exact same time my husband is putting our son to bed, I usually just collapse onto the bed in utter exhaustion. I then call – CALL on the phone! – my husband, who has usually already walked down stairs to do the dishes (or splash water around and haphazardly throw dishes into the dishwasher… which doesn’t bug me at all, even in my epically-tired state) and ask him to bring me ice water, chocolate something, and chapstick. And also if he could find my iPad and bring it up too, that would be awesome. Because I literally can’t move.

My husband, despite his lack of dish-washing skills, always obliges. And he is my hero.

But thankfully, by seven-ish, my day of being needed is over. The monster is asleep, and has magically slept through the night since eight weeks old, so the chances of him waking up aren’t even worth mentioning. He’s not really a monster; he’s just two. But I can sit in my bed, with all my necessities surrounding me – compliments of my husband – and watch all the TV I want, or read, or just stare at the walls- which can be very therapeutic. And then you’ll find me sleeping. Sleeping for the rest of the night. All night long. Sleep.

See, that’s me now. With sleep.

If there’s one thing I remember about newborns, even ones as magical as my first monster, it’s that they don’t go to sleep at seven and wake up at six-thirty in the morning. So call me the most selfish pregnant mama ever, but that means I know I’m going to have to kiss my clock-out time goodbye. And I just don’t know if I’m going to make it, and still manage to function. I like to function. I like wearing jeans and wearing makeup occassionally. With the amount of sleep I’m predicting for myself, with two children, will I even make it to the age where both are sleeping by seven p.m.? Dear heavens, what if, by some miracle, we decided to go for a third…years from now?!?!

How, in the world, will I survive?