Investigation into my Wife's Sanity

So Sammy's been going through a little bit of a growth spurt.  How do I know this?  Because a week ago, he was all cute and playing on his play mat giggling and laughing as if the world had no limit to its happiness and hugging us with a determined look of complete love and adulation, and this week, he has declared war on us by attempting to shatter eardrums with his yelling, peeing on everyone, holding his poop until the exact moment he's got his diaper off, needing constant food, and generally hating everything.

So either he's magically leaped into his teenage years, his old and senile years, or he's going through a growth spurt. 

This means that just about every night, he needs to wake up, and scream at us Gordon Ramsay style to make sure we're moving fast enough with the whole "Get Milk or Die Trying" shtick.  Last night, we both got about 4 hours total of sleep.

But this morning, my wife, who was suspiciously cheery eyed and bright and much more beautiful than usual (though not necessarily a statement that she doesn't look good normally, just a statement that on this specific day, she was particularly stunning...I'm not sure how to get out of that one), looked over at me while she was getting ready for work, and she asked, "What's wrong?"

I turned towards her, picked my knuckles up off the floor, wiped the drool off of my face, and made a herculean attempt to seem less like the first patient in the coming zombie apocalypse and said, "What?  Are you insane?  Or merely not human?  What have you done with my wife?  Did you manage to travel back in time a few hours just so you could sleep a bit more?"  (please remind me to look into this)  I'm pretty sure, though I can't be certain, that I went on like this for a good hour or two.

The peppering of questions slightly annoyed her, and she lost her entirely unnatural early-morning sense of humor.  "Seriously, what's wrong with you?  What would make you feel better?"

Ahh, of all the the potential options, even after four hours of sleep, I could answer this question perfectly.  I could literally answer it in my sleep, because I wouldn't NEED to answer the question then.  And the amazing thing about this is that my wife didn't know the answer to her question already. 

Problem: Lack of Sleep.  Solution: ?  let's see, um...hamburgers?  uh...drinking pickle juice?

Which leads me to ask the question...what's wrong with HER?  I have deduced the following possibilities:

• SHE is the first patient in the coming zombie apocalypse, and I should stock up on shotguns and their corresponding ammunition
• She has been replaced by a Pod Wife, a la Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and I'll go outside one day to find her real body zipped up in a pea pod.  
• She has converted to Surrealism, and she will randomly change both emotions and appearances with no apparent purpose, pattern, or goal.
• She is ALSO sleep deprived, though this is probably the least likely scenario, due to her increased attractiveness this morning.  Everyone knows sleep deprivation and attractiveness are inversely related.  Just like happiness and how many spiders there are on your face.