So much of this blog is devoted to all of the epiphanies and wonderful moments of fatherhood. I’d be remiss, however, if I didn’t admit it every once in a while: This stay-at-home/work-at-home daddy thing can be exhausting.

I bore the brunt of a particularly long weekend this afternoon. I was out reporting a story for one of my clients, the San Francisco Chronicle. I was driving on a windy road through the Anderson and Knights valleys from my home in Sonoma County to the Culinary Institute of America at Greystone in Napa County. And, basically, I fell asleep at the wheel of my truck.

Thankfully, I was alone in the vehicle. Even more thankfully, I dozed off on a straightaway, and managed to wake up before my truck ended up giving me a closer look at some old oak tree.

The experience freaked me out. I pulled off the road. I dumped cold water on my head. I even did jumping jacks. I tried everything in the book to snap myself out of the sleep-deprived daze I was in. In the end, the only thing that worked was a ten-minute power nap.

Biologically speaking, this sort of shutdown isn’t exactly a surprise. My average day involves watching L from when she gets up (6:30 a.m.) until about 2 p.m., working from 2-6 p.m., running, dinner, then working again from 10 p.m. to 1 or 2 a.m. There’s not a lot of time in there for rest.

Luckily, by body doesn’t give in to exhaustion when the baby is around. I’m sure this is because she’s moving too consistently for my body to realize just how tired it is.

(I bet it also has to do with the fact that my neuroses are working overdrive when I’m charged with caring for her; those God-given suckers are more potent than any adrenaline or energy drink.)

Still, today’s bout of narcolepsy begs the question: Is it possible to be a stay-at-home parent and a full-time (or mostly full-time) freelance writer without being a zombie at least some of the time? My hunch is that the answer is a resounding no. Now I just need to be more careful—and come up with better ways to deal.