3:30 a.m.
My Breathe Right strip is slipping off. I try for a while to reaffix it  -- I don't want to waste one since they're surprisingly expensive  -- before giving up and putting on a new one. Addicted, apparently.

3:40 a.m.
Pee.

3:45 a.m.
The babies begin their nightly acrobatics act. I giggle, then moan, then giggle, then moan for the next half hour as they flip, kick, and punch. I love these boys! I hate these boys! Will I ever get sleep? I pull Emily's hand to my belly to feel them, not caring that she was fast asleep. In the morning, I'll tell her I just wanted to "include" her in the "magical" experience.

6 a.m.
My wife gets up to go to the gym. I can't believe I've actually been sleeping! I'm simultaneously excited that the night is almost over and panicky that I have only another hour to sleep. For the next 60 minutes, I float in and out of a dream about breastfeeding (the twins try and try to nurse, but my breasts will produce only peanut butter) and fantasies about what I'll eat for breakfast (an oversize full-fat bran muffin...yum!).

7:03 a.m.
Rub my belly and tell the boys it's time to get up. I reprimand them for keeping me up all night, and they give me a few kicks in response as if to say, "Just you wait, lady!"

Patty Onderko is a senior editor at Babytalk. Her twin boys were born in July.

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