Doggy Envy

So we have a dog. Quincy. Before we had kids, Quincy had a great life. He was walked three times a day, went to doggy day care once a week and just lived it up. And then along came Emma and Macey and he's fallen down a peg or two. Or three or four. He doesn't get the yummiest of food -- he has bad teeth and so he gets old man food. And the kids like to play in his water. And sometimes when it's darn hot outside, we still make him go outside for an hour or two. He tries to lay down on the vent in the living room and gets in a lot of trouble. It's tough.

Despite this droll existence, I envy my dog. You see, if Garry takes a nap on Sunday afternoon, he pays dearly for it on Sunday night. He'll toss and turn forever because he took a nap earlier. But the alarm goes off Monday morning, regardless, so it's a wicked, wicked cycle.

Me, now I have a big problem with pregnancy insomnia. If I wake up at 4:00 to go to the bathroom, and I do, I'm up. Sometimes for an hour. Sometimes for nearly three. I'm just UP.

Now, Quincy, it doesn't matter if he took a nap 15 minutes ago -- he's willing to take another one if nothing exciting is going on. He doesn't pace the halls at night or stare at the TV Remote wishing he knew how to work that thing so he could watch Animal Planet. He just sleeps.

It'd be nice.