Parents Keep Each Other Sane

This is an iPhone note from 42 days ago. I was laying in bed, and I recorded this conversation with my other wife, Sleep Kristie:

She chuckles, mouth and eyes closed, lips smiling.

"What's so funny?" I ask, grinning as I roll over to look at her, suddenly excited at the opportunity to hear from Sleep Kristie.

"I remember..." She squints her eyes and rolls onto her back, putting her finger in the air. I can tell she's trying to remember her dream, which she usually has trouble with at this point...

"Remember what?"

"'Cause parents..." She pauses, finger still pointed at the ceiling, eyes still closed, concentrating... 

"...Keep each other sane..."

She seems satisfied with that, so she rolls into me with eyes still closed and nestles into the blankets.

"Parents keep each other sane," She mutters, "Then the baby. The baby second."

I'm laughing at this point, but trying not to make noise as I grab my phone and write all this down. 

Five minutes pass. She chuckles again.

"What's so funny now?" I can't believe I'm getting all this good material in one night.

"I guess so. Hm Hm Hmm Hmm Hmmm Hmmm." She's smiling and chuckling again.

"You guess what? What's funny?"

She sniffs.

"Being a parent."

iPhone Notes

Last night I rolled over in bed and typed this into my phone. It's not a song, and I'm not astute enough to qualify it as poetry... I guess it could be called creative journalling. I think I might start posting some of these "stream of thought" type notes:


I thought I knew I what to do, but I don't. Fleeting moments of peace are now endangered in the thick cloud that sits like a sponge on my head, heavy and wet, soaking up focus and clarity. I thought I knew what to do, but I don't. I crane my consciousness to see what lies beyond, but it's muffled and dark. I can only see my feet, two ragged stubs jutting out below my kneecaps. I'm out of options. I put one in front of the other and pray there is no cliff.