I'm alive. (If that's what you'd call it)
The baby turned one year old and I realized I haven't slept more than 4 hours in a row for a full twelve months. And then it got worse. We're up every 2-3 hours. Still. I never dreamed I'd still be in "survival" mode after 13 months. The good news is that we are all still alive (except, I guess, for the cat). Food gets made. Showers and baths get taken (though not quite as often as we'd hope). Clothes are clean (most of the time, but it's not the end of the world if they're not).
Birthday parties, vacations, marathon cheering, homework, school events, ballet classes, church, Sunday school, and a few dinners with friends (Ok, just one of those) are still happening. Life is still happening.
Things that aren't happening:
arriving at appointments on time
showing up in the appropriate city for the appointment(s)
correctly addressing birthday cards
reading, writing, hobbies of any type
preparing for the future
Megs2.0 (the new therapist) insists that this too, shall pass. But dude, it's been 13 months. Of wheel-spinning. One day the baby will sleep. Or move out. One of those things will happen.