Obviously what I need is a Thanksgiving turkey

It's five in the morning, people.  I woke up at two, and I have not been able to get back to sleep.  I hate it when this happens.  It doesn't really help that the whole time I'm trying to get back to sleep Ben is flopping around and turning sideways to put his little tooting pee butt in my face.  I love the kid, but really, no one likes it when farts (disgustingly warm and moist, I might add) are propelled into their face point blank.  Not even from their own spawn, I tell you.  I'll probably get pink eye now.
The problem is that I am tired, but I cannot sleep.  I believe there is a term associated with that.  I can't remember, but it is either zombification or insomnia.  Is it possible that I have become what I fear most?  No, not a cockroach, but I'm pretty scared of those, too (don't judge me- they're so icky!).  I meant a zombie.  I suppose you could call me a zombie in the sense that all mothers are.  100% walking dead all the time- now without brain cravings!  What kind of cruelty is it that as I get older, I require more sleep to function but am offered exponentially less than when I was a child?  I should have thought ahead and slept during the ages 13-18.  It would have been time better spent, I tell you what.
I'm getting excited about the holidays.  I've gotten just one present for Ben.  I'll probably get him one or two more, but he doesn't really know what it's about anyway.  I'm having trouble not giving that present to him, though.  It's this thing here, and I wonder if it will help him to learn how to walk.  Or at least give him more confidence that he actually will walk.  He knows what it's all about, but I think he's afraid of falling.  Which is kind of weird because he doesn't seem to be afraid of tumbling down the stairs face first or climbing into or onto anything and everything that can conceivably be climbed. 

He climbed into the dryer by himself while holding those two spools of thread (must have something in each hand, preferably similar objects).  Luckily, we don't actually make it a habit of leaving the dryer door open.  I was standing there doing laundry at the time of the incident.  And yes, that is a black eye he has from falling face first onto a toy.  I also have a picture on my phone of him with his hand on the doorknob trying to open the front door.  Also luckily, we're in the habit of keeping that thing locked.  It's only a matter of time before he figures out how to turn it.  

I digress.  Holidays.  I love them.  My husband does not share the same affection for them as I do, though.  He's such a grump.  I think that'll change as we have more kids and they get older, though.  I have such great Christmas memories from growing up.  I remember when I must have been three or four and I slept in the living room because I wanted to catch Santa.  And when I woke up on Christmas morning, I had wet myself.  Er, okay, so maybe that wasn't particularly the best example of a great Christmas memory, but it still gives me the warm fuzzies.  Not wet warm fuzzies, mind you.  I finally outgrew that, you'll be happy to know. 

I love love love Thanksgiving because I love love love food.  'Tis the season to be a glutton, that's what I always say.  Okay, I don't always say that.  Just occasionally, like right now.  My father in law makes a pretty incredible turkey gravy.  Seriously.  I could drink that stuff.  That coupled with my mother in law's mashed potatoes makes me never want to be anywhere else for Thanksgiving (but only because I don't ever have the money to buy plane tickets to GA during the holidays- I promise, Mom!).  I'm so excited for next week.  I'm drooling already.  But I'm totally buying a turkey breast to make for me and Chris.  How else will I be able to sleep between now and Thanksgiving?  Tryptophan, people.