I have reached the point when, upon running out of cream for that next desperately needed cup of coffee (which is actually mostly decaf–I’m always trying to psych myself out, willing myself to feel the phantom caffeine), I look at the breast milk in the fridge and think, “Hey, sweet and fresh, what could be so bad, right?”

When I told my husband this he said he had thought the same thing.

He said, “Coffee with a little erotic charge, too.”

We’re very, very tired.

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